Richard’s best friend had a birthday celebration dinner tonight, down in the bay area, and we’d both been planning on attending. But after the emotional roller coaster we went through this week with Tangerine, I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle being social with a bunch of people I didn’t know. I’m not the most comfortable in large group settings to start with (unless I know quite a few of them, because despite my best efforts, I will always be a social awkward introvert at heart), but I didn’t think I could do several hours of cheerful right now.

So Richard drove down to celebrate with his friend and I stayed behind in the house alone, and made bread. Somehow it seemed like the right thing to do, making bread. The dough requires a lot of focus when I’m mixing it, making sure to weigh out all my ingredients with a digital scale, setting timers so I get the kneading done perfectly, cutting the dough into perfectly equal segments to make rolls.  While they were rising, and later, while they were baking, I sat in the living room and I tried to do a little knitting. The rolls came out of the oven round and golden brown and beautiful and I ate two with some cheese for dinner, and watched mindless programs on the television and aimlessly surfed the web.

Rosie has several stuffed critters that are orange and for some reason she decided to pile them all together and I keep catching glimpses of them out of the corner of my eye as I walk from room to room, and have to stop myself from bending down to give a pet to the little orange cat that isn’t actually there. The house feels so big and empty and lost.  I think when we had to put Sebastian to sleep I could hold off a little on the grief because there were still the others to fill the house with noise and activity, but now, two of the biggest personalities in the house are gone, and it is all very, very wrong.