"And it came to me then that every plan was a tiny prayer to Father Time"

The outpouring of support and love in the wake of Archie's passing has been overwhelming and so very appreciated. Matt and I are...Well, we're hanging in there. We have so many questions and so much self-recrimination as we turn over in our minds the events of Saturday. What did we do? What did we miss? How did this happen?

We cleaned Archie's cage and put it in storage Sunday, so that we won't be faced with it every time we go into the living room. It was harder, more final, than digging his grave for some reason. Grief has left me feeling weak and exhausted; I felt alright to go to work today, but after a full day of pretending everything was fine for the benefit of my students, I feel hollow and fragile again.

I didn't want this post to focus on Archie, but I have to address it. I'm distracted and off-kilter, but I'm attempting to move forward.

Last week, I had an (almost) perfect running week. Every day I planned to run in the morning, I ran. I was ready to conquer my long run, but I obviously skipped it. I haven't felt up to running. I do hope to run Tuesday evening and then get back on track for morning runs, even if my mileage is lower.

Last time a pet passed, running was too much time to think. It was awful. But I want to stay in my routine; I think it will help.

I just finished Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running and have a full review planned for this week, so hopefully that will help me ease back into blog posts that aren't maudlin.

But I just wanted to say thank you, and that your words have meant more than you can imagine. They've been a balm for an ache I think will never disappear, but has eased at least a little.

ABK