Friends and Fish

I have several reasons for returning to this blog. The most pertinent is that a wonderful friend told me he would kill me if I did not keep writing it--somehow this threat was actually inspiring... Another ironically encouraging event is the death of my fish, who was only a year old. I am not sure whether it was the shadowed location I'd placed her in, the cloudy water (which I've been told beta's can handle!), or a natural lifespan. Regardless, walking exhausted into my bedroom to be greeted by a horrific smell, my dad telling me something in my room must be dead, and finding that it was not a mouse or a cat producing such a strong stench, but my poor tiny little fish who couldn't even float to the top because she was held down by a giant shell, which was meant to be a place under which she could have some privacy, yes, all affected me. As I curled up on my bed wanting to throw up because I just haven't had enough sleep lately to handle the trauma or to refrain myself from panicking to my dad, who graciously transported my fish from the bowl to the toilet (luckily I was sane enough to notice that my dad purposely did not flush the toilet), I recognized the importance of order and the side effects of personal derangement: fish die, I panic, my mom has to learn that fish's eyes often bulge when they die, and my dad has to come to the rescue, in other words deal with his 23 year-old daughter who lives in the basement. And in the chaos, I don't write. Me not writing is disorder at this point, and thanks to friends and fish, I'd like to continue not only to write, but to post on this blog sporadically and often enough that when I don't write friends will threaten, encourage, or a little of both to get me back on track.