Up, I Think

Last night I had a glimmer of "Ooomph." I thought it might be a whispy illusion but no; it lasted through today and in fact, awhirl with oomphy energy, I cleaned my office--at least I got a start on it. I even partially detrashed my car and tossed out the relics from my last road trip during a trip to Office Depot to replenish printer supplies.

I also started on a task I've been putting off. I began packing away my aquarium supplies in preparation to giving it all away to Goodwill. I dread this because it dredged up memories. I had these happy little aquatic frogs, all of which died one by one from various illnesses, brought about from being overbred. I nursed one frog through a lingering illness and fed him by hand with a set of long tweezers. I was with him when he gave one last spasm and died. I bought a frog from a breeder in Pittsburgh, and she shipped him all the way here, and he was a big, strong, happy frog, but he too eventually died. He became ill and I euthanized him. He was the first and only animal I ever euthanized by my own hand.

I had a Betta who liven in his own tank and he lived over two years before passing away of old age. He died while I was at a party. I came home and he was floating amongst the plants. This Betta, Firebolt, interacted with me and would eat raw fish slivers from my hand. I replaced him with a second Betta, Big Fish, who was a nervous, timid fellow, who ran from me whenever I fed him. He never recovered from childhood trauma. He died a week ago and I haven't had the heart to break the tank down yet. But I will tomorrow.

I grew all the plants from tiny growths into magnificent healthy flora. The critters loved the lush foliage. I maintained as natural an environment as possible for them. Though genetically damaged through overbreeding, the frogs were happy until they died.

But die they did, and they died young. Those frogs used to live for years; sometimes ten years or more. Even clumsy keepers used to keep them for two years. I had one frog years ago who lived for four years. But the ones I was getting were undersized, would develop tumors, waste away, have seizures. A hobby I took up to provide a corner of happiness in my life became a constant source of grief.

My wife, sweet as she is, doesn't understand my grief. When my best friend died, she looked at me, puzzled, then bought me some ice cream. My son commented "maybe she thinks you're a woman." I think that I grieved over a frog completely baffled her.

I perused the aquarium items one by one as I packed them away. There was a little piece of African hardwood the frogs loved to burrow beneath; an artificial cave they enjoyed peeking out of.

I hate this world. It's a crappy deal. We're dropped in it, hardwired to care for each other, then the people and things we care for go away and we'll never see them again. No wonder so many people flee to the fantasy of religion.

I'm at the age where I hear more of death and funerals than births and weddings. I'm tired of it. I would love to hear some good news once in a while.

I guess it's good news that there will be more space where the aquarium used to be. There is that.