These crosswords are way the fuck too easy.
To eat the living shit out of.
via reddit via i.imgur.com
One of my parents’ chinchillas died yesterday. She was 16. She died in her sleep, I guess; my poor mom found her little body—they’re small, but so much smaller dead—inside the glass fishbowl they liked to snuggle in together. My parents buried her in the front yard, next to some poppies; carved her a little wooden marker; cried a bit; skipped dinner.
Heartlessly, I feel bad for them, and for the sister she leaves behind, but I won’t miss her. They never really liked me, and I never really liked them, and we didn’t bond, and she was old, and if it was her time to die, then I’m grateful she was able to have what appeared to be a peaceful death.
I care about animals. But these chinchillas were supposed to be our pets, you know, our pals, and they were too wild, and we didn’t make enough effort to socialize them, and one gone eases my guilt for being a bad carer. If I’d known the responsibility that having chinchillas required, I wouldn’t have agreed to getting them so long ago; I was 11, what did I know except we missed our rats who loved us and kept dying, and chinchillas were adorable and long-lived rodents, and having them as pets meant they wouldn’t be turned into fur clothing, so why not?
So naive and selfish. I neglected my fish and he died a couple years ago; no more fish for me. I feel so guilty, like I have so much to make up for, regarding pets. I want my own animal friends so much—I like to think, you know, if they were mine, properly exclusively mine, I wouldn’t neglect them. Maybe that’s why I’m teaching these dogs new tricks, and commands in German? To prove that I’m not a neglectful, selfish asshole? Alternatively because I’m boring myself crazy.
I don’t miss the chinchilla. But I’m sorry for my parents, who do, and I’m sorry for her sister, who has to live alone for the first time in her 16-year life. I know how it feels to be left, at least. Honestly, shamefully, I’m a little sorry for myself for not feeling bad about this, but I can’t force it. It’s just—if they had ever acted like they liked me, even once, if they’d acted like they weren’t scared of me, or if I meant to them anything besides “big-faced thing that distributes raisins,” losing one might mean more.
I was slightly sadder when my mom’s mother died; barely knew her, either. Here’s a lesson: don’t neglect your family, even if they show zero interest in you. Don’t neglect the ones you love, even if they don’t love you back. What are we—OK, what am I—without an active heart? Without empathy?