I should definitely be in bed now. But for whatever reason, Carlos came into the room with me. That was the reason I was sleeping on the couch for most of the weekend--I knew he'd follow me in there. This would be perfectly fine, even welcome, if he weren't dead. But knowing that it's just my imagination, that he really won't be jumping up next to me, curling up and sighing as he licks his chops in that very thick, warm way he did when he was exhausted. These things will not happen. And no matter how we search, there will never be another Carlos. Something might fill the void--I'd hoped it would be my field statement, but so far it hasn't seemed as cuddly--but it won't be him.
I just got finished watching Tarnation on DVD as I packed to go to California tomorrow. The guy is obviously brilliant--and hence a bit crazy, pretentious and self absorbed--but he also shows a patience for people's mental illness that made me feel a bit guilty about putting down a dog with such soft floppy ears and cute reactions to his favorite words--even if most of the time the ears were cocked and his reaction was to bark incessantly. He was a great pet. And tonight, in this quiet, empty house, at this late hour, I wish that pet was actually going to follow me to bed and curl up at my feet. Every time I see a picture, I say I am sorry. And I am--to him for ending his life and for me because I no longer have that life sharing my space.
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