T.F.C. got spayed yesterday and I made a video.

Not of the actual procedure, just the dropping off and picking up part.

So there, it’s done and I can sleep a little easier.

The timing is just right. I woke up this morning at 5:30 and took Blue out for his morning constitutional and the sound of the birds, the softness of the air, that delicate smell of tiny leaves about to emerge, it was a reminder that spring is very close.

That early morning smell is highly evocative of the time I fell in love with Loony. I reveled in it.

It also means that soon we will be leaving our doors open to enjoy the fresh air and That Fucking Cat will get her wish and start going outside. We’ve kept her inside since September, if she doesn’t know this is home yet, then she never will.

I’m feeling down today, overwhelmed by social media and trivialities. I have a friend who is in prison for life.

I write to him whenever I can, my latest letter being a printout of my year-long wrap up. The letter I got back was surprising.

He’d never seen a blog before.

There’s lots of people who’ve never seen a blog before and that, in an of itself is no tragedy, but he’ll never be able to see a blog, or do any number of more interesting and important things.

He is so curious about the outside world. He read Born to Run and wanted so badly to know what chia seeds tasted like, since the author waxed rhapsodic about them. I assured him that he isn’t missing out on anything, they are like slimy poppy seeds.

The rest of his reading list (largely non-fiction) puts me to shame. He is far more versed in social sciences, global politics and history than I ever will be. His curiosity casts a wide net whereas it seems like my curiosity is focused solely on my navel.

His world is so tiny, so controlled. Even if he had done what he was convicted of (and he maintains his innocence) it has been 30 years. He is not the same person.

He’s a man in his middle age who has spent thirty years devouring any knowledge and education available to him. He will never get out because he has the misfortune of being in the no-parole state of Pennsylvania where prisons are for-profit and big business.

Life, wasted.

Coincidentally I heard a related story about a man who, though having committed a crime, fell through the cracks and was never jailed until 13 years later.

In the meantime he started a business, a family, and was a contributing member of society. Fully rehabilitated by all definitions. And now he’s in prison for 12 years, costing the state $20K a year when he could be paying taxes, being a father, a husband and creating jobs.

Life, wasted.

Then Nikki sent me this fascinating article about a 39 panel mural made from prison bedsheets, hair gel and newspapers.

In the face of this clawing, desperate need for meaning, education and expression, suddenly I have lost my taste for the trivialities of Buzzfeed lists of “The 10 Foods You Should Never Eat” or some shit.

Life, wasted.

I’m putting down the computer for a while.