I don't know if it was the amazing weather, delirium from walking 55 blocks in a short amount of time or if I'm really enamoured with this person that made me do something completely domestic.
I am the proud parent of a beta fish.
Is this how it begins? What next? Matching scarves? Knitted booties?
I grew up in a household bereft of pets for the most part. Dogs would drift into my mother's apartment for a few months at the maximum and at some point, Cruella DeVil (as we were apt to call her, unfortunately) would pass the dog onto a loving family who could care for it and wasn't a single mother with two jobs raising two teens and trying to keep up with the Jones. All together, we had 4 dogs, numerous hamsters, 2 cats and a rat- the result of an impulse purchase at a reptile store.
College saw a few mice and the random beta my roommate would purchase and we would eventually kill with the grand idea that sure- they can consume vodka. (it was not the vodka that killed this beta- it was the poor judgement of pet sitter in a man that looked like a cartoon, sounded like Beaker and pretended to be a 22yr old hipster in a 32 yr old yuppie Prof. job.)
But I'm digressing.
Here I am, 7 months into a new city, new job and new relationship and I'm buying beta fish. I'm not following my usual path of progression. There is no cat involved, nor lease and we've made it past the 3 month mark. Isn't that some sort of record??
Still.
I have a fish that I purchased with someone.
Part ownership. I don't do ownership well. Unless it's books. Then, back off. But even my clothes are just mine as in "a stopping point between the last thrift store and the next one" Maybe its due to all of the stuff I've lost in relationships: dvds, music, clothes, jewelry, cats (2), "toys", friends and as I would lament in my pint at the pub: pieces of my soul. My room tends to resemble the sort of place Bukowski and Kerouac describe in their novels.
So the contents of my room are now- one mattress on the floor, one book shelf full of books, one laptop that might work if you angle it right, and one beta fish named Rhett. Is this how people do it in NYC?
Don't get me wrong. (continue reading honey- I really DO like the fish)
It's time for me to care for something other than my own sanity. But, having a pet means I have to grow up just a bit more. I have to think about feeding said pet, cleaning water, reading up on habits and God forbid- care for it if it gets sick. I wake up wondering if he's jumped to his little Poisson death. Or if the water was too chlorinated for him. These are anxieties I wasn't anticipating in the pet store. Yet- I was concerned enough to purchase a $12 bowl for a $3 fish that could die before my next paycheck.
Part of me thinks this is my new and twisted way to avoid consistent writing and a creative way to explain that Ramen now comprises EVERY meal in my diet.
All in all, I enjoy the fish. (I mean, Rhett.) It's added plenty of conversation to our relationship: "How's the fish?" "Fine" "How's work?" "Okay"
I feel like I've accomplished something less than 4 minutes after I get up. Its become (in 24hrs) proof that I'm not in a detrimental, dependent, stereotypical relationship. It's not bound by alcohol, narcotics or the rest of the list I'd rather not go into...
You can keep your babies. Your mortgages. Your car payments.
I've got a fish.
I am the proud parent of a beta fish.
Is this how it begins? What next? Matching scarves? Knitted booties?
I grew up in a household bereft of pets for the most part. Dogs would drift into my mother's apartment for a few months at the maximum and at some point, Cruella DeVil (as we were apt to call her, unfortunately) would pass the dog onto a loving family who could care for it and wasn't a single mother with two jobs raising two teens and trying to keep up with the Jones. All together, we had 4 dogs, numerous hamsters, 2 cats and a rat- the result of an impulse purchase at a reptile store.
College saw a few mice and the random beta my roommate would purchase and we would eventually kill with the grand idea that sure- they can consume vodka. (it was not the vodka that killed this beta- it was the poor judgement of pet sitter in a man that looked like a cartoon, sounded like Beaker and pretended to be a 22yr old hipster in a 32 yr old yuppie Prof. job.)
But I'm digressing.
Here I am, 7 months into a new city, new job and new relationship and I'm buying beta fish. I'm not following my usual path of progression. There is no cat involved, nor lease and we've made it past the 3 month mark. Isn't that some sort of record??
Still.
I have a fish that I purchased with someone.
Part ownership. I don't do ownership well. Unless it's books. Then, back off. But even my clothes are just mine as in "a stopping point between the last thrift store and the next one" Maybe its due to all of the stuff I've lost in relationships: dvds, music, clothes, jewelry, cats (2), "toys", friends and as I would lament in my pint at the pub: pieces of my soul. My room tends to resemble the sort of place Bukowski and Kerouac describe in their novels.
So the contents of my room are now- one mattress on the floor, one book shelf full of books, one laptop that might work if you angle it right, and one beta fish named Rhett. Is this how people do it in NYC?
Don't get me wrong. (continue reading honey- I really DO like the fish)
It's time for me to care for something other than my own sanity. But, having a pet means I have to grow up just a bit more. I have to think about feeding said pet, cleaning water, reading up on habits and God forbid- care for it if it gets sick. I wake up wondering if he's jumped to his little Poisson death. Or if the water was too chlorinated for him. These are anxieties I wasn't anticipating in the pet store. Yet- I was concerned enough to purchase a $12 bowl for a $3 fish that could die before my next paycheck.
Part of me thinks this is my new and twisted way to avoid consistent writing and a creative way to explain that Ramen now comprises EVERY meal in my diet.
All in all, I enjoy the fish. (I mean, Rhett.) It's added plenty of conversation to our relationship: "How's the fish?" "Fine" "How's work?" "Okay"
I feel like I've accomplished something less than 4 minutes after I get up. Its become (in 24hrs) proof that I'm not in a detrimental, dependent, stereotypical relationship. It's not bound by alcohol, narcotics or the rest of the list I'd rather not go into...
You can keep your babies. Your mortgages. Your car payments.
I've got a fish.
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