Tag / animal

by Isla

The Point

In which I go hunting

Pencil sketch of a cat with large amber eyes.

It used to reside in open plan offices that smelled faintly of yesterday’s soup. It used to curl up on keyboards and yawn at powerpoint presentations that were doomed to be made-viewed-discarded-made-viewed-discarded. And, once a month, it used to slink onto my bank statement and preen. 

The Point didn’t enjoy its unexpected uprooting. It disappeared for long months, presumably butting its head against the closed glass of sliding doors that no longer allowed entrance. It must have spent hours beneath familiar windows, now closed just too far to admit it. I’d hear grumbling yowls in the night, as it yearned for what was and bemoaned what is. 

And then one day, it finally wended its way back to me, with ears chewed until scalloped and with pale moons of bare skin along its flank, an inverse leopard. We started out slow: careful sniffs at a paint palette and a cautious paw batting a runaway sponge. Staring matches with spider plants, pressing close to a warm oven door, curling into loving arms. 

The Point and I, we’re figuring it out.

by Isla

Salve

In which I curl up in the love of strangers

I spent the past few days bathing in a pool of like minds.

(Also a lot of sweat.)

There’s an inordinate sense of comfort when everyone around you shares your values, when you can speak to a stranger without carefully excising all the bits of your self that might prove controversial.

In times like these, the warmth and friendliness of fellow humans smooth over the bruises that bloom daily in the wake of the morning news. The songs that break lips begin to burn away the helplessness coiled around hearts. Determination long dimmed stokes at the touch of new hands.

And in the real world, where strangers don’t talk to strangers, eyes dance to avoid another gaze, and another bruise marks my skin, I’ll recall that this stalwart silence does not mean that I am alone.

by Isla

Iceberg

In which I had to go out

Chalk sketch of a lion by Isla Kennedy - Medically Unexplained

I went to choir on Thursday.*

* Actual process:

1. Wake up and scan through body. 

Is there cramping? [Y/N]

Will this cramping escalate and prevent you from going? [Y/N]

If “Y”, message choir director. Experience extreme guilt. Skip to step 9.

If “N”, eat, then take painkillers. 

2. Are you still cramping or has cramping started since this morning? [Y/N]

Will you have to take (more) painkillers? [Y/N]

If “Y”, half an hour before taking them, eat to line stomach in order to avoid gastritis.

3. Are you still cramping? [Y/N]

If “Y”, eat, take painkillers around an hour before getting on the bus.

4. Make sure you bring a vomit bag, tissues, water, more painkillers. 

5. Select the bus seat least likely to induce cramp of the ones available. Do not get on the bus if there is no seat. 

Sit bolt upright and as still as you can. 

Simultaneously attempt to spread out and wedge yourself securely.

Manspread without upsetting the person next to you.

Try to relax.

6. While in choir, hydrate, relax, and roll shoulders.

Sing.

7. Are you still cramping? [Y/N]

If “Y”, during the mid-practice break take more painkillers. 

8. Is the cramp getting worse? [Y/N]

If “Y”, get off the bus early and walk the rest of the way home. 

9. Is the cramp still bad? [Y/N]

If “Y”, move pillows and duvet to the floor.

Eat to line stomach.

Take painkillers.

Apply ibuprofen gel.

Apply ice packs.

Move plastic bin within arm’s reach.

10. Leave food and water on the floor nearby in case you need to take more painkillers in four hours’ time. 

11. Attempt to sleep on the floor. 

12. If cramping escalates, wake in four hours, eat, take painkillers. 

13. Apply hope protocol.