screaming loud enough to turn back the wind

So, I’ve been reading more than anything lately. So far, it’s all been rereads of my favorites, as I’d planned to read through my entire bookcase to see if I still wanted all the books on it. I have quite a few library books that I haven’t read before, but I’ll take recs, if anyone has anything in particular they think I’d enjoy.

I literally do not have the energy to deal with the shitshow my country has become.

What the fuck is happening.

It is 20 goddamned fucking 17 and this is exactly how dystopias start.

There are so many reasons I feel like I'm in the midst of a nightmare, and if I am, I would really like to fucking wake up now.

So yesterday, I told my mom that I hate my brain because I keep finding new ways to guilty for not saving Gus.

She explained in detail how smoke inhalation works, that for a cat his size, with his bad lungs, it happened quickly.

I said, "So I was standing outside on the grass when he died."

Mom then gave me a list of worse outcomes for me, had I stayed to look:

1. Losing consciousness and being without air long enough to cause brain damage
2. Being trapped in a burn unit
3. Losing consciousness and dying

It doesn't really make me feel better, but I know it helps my family. They've told me often enough.

We also discussed how I can find closure, and we've decided to take a trip to the ocean in about a month, to release a biodegradable box or something, with the last picture I took of him and something I'll write between now and then. I feel slightly better, at least.

Also, I'm coughing more now, instead of less.

1) my boss's boss collected money from both buildings to give me

2) I taught my first two classes and did okay

3) I found a book that I had two copies of for a penny at the library

4) I've started collecting more art - found two nice pieces for $10 each at an estate sale

5) I was given two pieces of art for free

6) my family has swooped in to take care of most everything

7) I somehow had replacement cost on my renter's insurance without knowing about it because my dad is an insurance agent and set it up for me

8) I'm alive. I keep thinking that it'd be easier if I wasn't here in the way being a burden, but both of my sisters and my mom keep telling me that if there wasn't this mess to clean up, they'd have been planning a funeral.

A tattoo I've been craving since Saturday as written in sharpie


A fun doodle I requested over a bruise still remaining from where they drew blood in the ER. Every time I see it, I have a split second where I think it's soot on my arm.


A tattoo I've been wanting for a few months as written in sharpie



(That's my mom's handwriting. She despises tattoos.)

A few comments asked, so instead of answering each, I'll put it here.

It was an electrical fire. It started in the wall of my roommate's room. She was sleeping on the couch; either the smell, the fire alarm, or her shouting woke me up. Or all three.

We tried putting it out. I thought we had. I remember hearing Gus meow, I think as he ran into my room while I was figuring out the fire extenisher.

The upstairs neighbor rushed to check on us and then went into the apartment to check on the fire. I was on the phone with 911.

He told us it wasn't out. He went back upstairs to get his toddler.

I shouted for Gus. I think I went back in to try and find him but my roommate wouldn't let me.

It was so hot. I couldn't breathe or see. I shouted for Gus.

The fire climbed up the wall to the upstairs neighbor's apartment. About six fire trucks came. I called my mom, the apartment lady, and my lilsis.

We ran out of the apartment in our nightclothes, with our phones. That was it.

All of my stuff has smoke and heat damage, but the flames stayed in her room. We watched it billow out of her window. The firemen kept telling me to back up, and I asked at least three of them if I could go in to find Gus. They told me no.

I don't remember much more of that morning. I kept breaking down.

I had a panic attack at the hospital. My mom and sister keep telling me that I'm not a burden and they're just glad I'm still here.

If my roommate hadn't moved in, the fire alarm wouldn't have been on the wall. I may not have woken up. I may have stayed longer in the apartment.

I've gone back twice, while my family pulled out what they could. Looking at it... the fire chief said we're really lucky.

Until the electricity was cut, the fire wouldn't go out. There was nothing we could've done.

Finding another one of these because the first isn't salvageable.

I want today to have never happened.

I sobbed to both my little sister, two EMTs, and my mom that I wanted to wake up and they all told me I was awake.

Am awake.

The year was going so good. I was actually happy.

And now this.

My family wouldn't even let me go back to the apartment today. My aunt and little sister drove around for supplies while I rested on my parents' couch. Then my mom dragged me to the ER to get my lungs checked, because I stayed in the fire until I could neither breathe nor see, yelling for Gus.

Everyone keeps telling me I did all I could. That I did more than most would've for my GusGus. But he's my cat. He's been mine since he was 10 weeks old, since 2009.

I love him so much. He wasn't burned. He inhaled too much smoke, trying to hide from the threat. They tried to bring him back. They brought him to me.

My mom showed him to me, wrapped in a towel. I couldn't hold him. I could barely look at him. Does that make me horrible? I want to remember him as he was last night, curled up on my chest. Nudging me with his paw and chirping slightly. Wrapping himself around my shoulder and exploring my hair.

That's the Gus I choose to remember. Happy somewhere new, away from his endless UTIs and bad lungs.

I'll find him there, one day. I'll find him and I'll swing him into my arms, and he'll meow at me and I'll understand what he means.

I wish today had never happened. I'd trade everything in the apartment for Gus to have dashed out and hid somewhere else.

At this time last night, Gus was stretched across my lap, purring.

I want him back.

There was a fire in my apartment this morning.

My cat is dead.

My roommate and I are fine.

Okay, so I met with my advisor yesterday to discuss this upcoming semester. As my only teaching experience has been an observer/TA in a classroom of six 60-90 year olds and tutoring a single student, I asked if she knew of a way to get some experience, to know for sure whether I actually like teaching or not.

As it turns out, there is a class of 85 students in need of an instructor. They’ve been scrambling to fill it and all you need is a Master’s degree and 18 hours of grad-level courses. I currently have 90 hours of grad-level courses and I got my Master’s last August.

So. Extra money and teaching experience.

The first class is on Tuesday.