Last night, Thursday, was the first night since Mango’s death that I didn’t go to bed after drinking a bunch. I sat there on the couch by myself after work, following a brief visit from Elle, and I ate some ramen, drank water, watched a couple of Steve Donoghue’s videos and went to bed at 11. Felt sad. Dreamt that I found binders in my grandfather’s home office with all of my blog posts in them. Then I dreamt that I was on a boat that sank in front of the docks of a frathouse and I had Mango with me in the water and we were being chased by a shark and I had to carry him above the surface cuz he was too tired to swim and I was kicking so frantically…
This morning I looked at his things and debated what to do with them. The broken carrier, the musky little bed, the food bowl. The food itself.
When you’ve got nothing else construct ceremonies out of the air and breathe upon them.Cormac McCarthy, The Road
Feel like there should be some kind of ceremony about their disposal. Cormac McCarthy said something about conjuring ceremonies up out of the air when you have none. Add a sense of purpose to things. Consecrate its personal meaning.
Do I bring a candle with me to the trash chute?