Catatonic

I've been having a bit of a funny few days.  Re-homing Luna broke me a tiny bit and I went into suspension.  This was unexpected.  Most change is met with, if not resilience, then a sort of vague greyish resignation.  Letting go of a cat I was never particularly fond of has been surprisingly hard.  I have dreamed, maybe hoped, that she would walk back the 8km from Uccle and we could have a syrupy Disney reunion. 

This would actually not be ideal, as I'd then have to work out what to do with her again.  But I really fucking miss her.  She was loud, often a bit psychopathic, but she was my spiky little companion these last four years.  Often she would lay along my side, with her face as close to mine as possible, purring.  We spoke to each other.  I have no idea what she was saying.  "Take me to Uccle, you bitch," possibly.

Her new slave has sent me a photo of her curled up asleep on his lap, so I know she's fine. 

Today I am preparing to get ready for Prom for the first and likely only time in my life.  I have a sort of Grecian goddess dress in cobalt blue which nicely skims over the fat bits, and I'll wear a sparkly necklace.  Talking of dresses, has everyone got much taller suddenly?  I have to cut four inches off the bottom of this frock in order not to go arse over tit while walking.  A bunch of us are going as chaperones to the seniors but, I suspect, we are just going to eat a lot and get riotously pissed.  That's English pissed, not American. 

I will attempt to leave before midnight, not because of the risk of turning back into a scullery-maid, but because some of the late trains terminate at Delta.  Which isn't a sorority house, but a station far too far from which to stagger in evening wear.