I’m very sorry to say that Maisie, that wee sweetheart of a bunny rabbit, died recently. She was always an absolutely teeny little thing, about half the size she was supposed to be—the runt of her litter. When she was born, she was so puny that her own mother wouldn’t feed her, choosing instead to devote her efforts to the babies that would actually live to see tomorrow; she wound up with a foster mom just to survive her babyhood. Even once she got bigger, some health problems came with the territory, and she struggled with respiratory issues. One day, she just didn’t feel like eating, and as is sometimes the way of bunnies (Mother Nature’s ticking time bombs!) she didn’t make it long enough after that even to make her emergency vet appointment.

Jeff, ever the dedicated bunnydaddy, flew in from the East Coast, and we buried her in a pretty place on my parents’ property while crying like little bitches. True to form for a man who used to strain her food through a colander so she wouldn’t sneeze on the dust, he had brought a phone book to bury with her—phone books had always been her favorite. He opened it to H, for Hay, also her favorite, and she now rests on top of that at the bottom of the deepest pet grave ever dug. (Yes, that was Jeff again.)

I hate that she didn’t live long, but I tell myself that while she was here, we gave her everything. Not many bunnies live in a five-level custom mansion or spend their days lounging around on the carpet. My pets are flagrantly spoiled in a world where a lot of people treat animals like afterthoughts or accessories; I just tell myself that she was one lucky bunny and she had a good life, even if it was shorter than I would have liked. She was one beloved little jellybean of a bunny.

Hugh.

Hugh had a really hard time after Maisie died, which isn’t unusual for bonded bunnies. He looked for her a lot at first, which kind of broke my heart. Lots of pettings and lots of treats later, he’s mostly his old self, though he needs a little more reassurance than he used to. Maisie would always calm him down, so every day I make sure I stroke his forehead and whisper lots of nice things in his ears. Just a few weeks ago, he finally started doing his binkies again—those big leaps he’s so famous for. I just got a work-at-home job again after working most of this year in an office, so he’s enjoying his old lifestyle of tons of attention combined with way too many carrots. (In related news, he’s kind of fat.) I have no plans to get another bunny at this time, mainly because someone with a future as uncertain as mine probably shouldn’t purchase a betta fish, much less an entire lagomorph. Jeff, who sees him more rarely, notes an improvement in his demeanor every time, so that’s encouraging. I think he’ll be all right, if “morbidly obese” counts as all right.

Veganism.

I have failed at so many things this year, and veganism was one of them. I downshifted to vegetarianism when I found myself without enough spare time to get a decent night’s sleep, much less cook vegan food. Somewhere around April-May, I just gave up on everything, and I do mean everything—just kind of plonked down on the sidewalk like a tired mule and let the whole world go on without me. I had been fighting pretty fiercely to save one thing or another for months, and I don’t think a little giving up was an unhealthy thing at that point. At any rate, it’s been vegetarianism since, though now that life has recently started looking up in a big way and I’m finding myself with more time, I’m already starting to transition back into it.

I still think it’s the right thing to do. I really do. But I rarely reach perfection in any category, and food consumption is unfortunately no different.

The book.

I finished the first draft of my book in November of 2008. It needs a lot of revisions, all of which I intended to complete this year. My motto was “Agent-ready by December 2009!” Due to a slight change of plans, I instead spent this year barely functioning, so hey, BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME. I’ve only recently picked it up again, and by recently I actually mean today.

Even so, finishing that draft remains one of my proudest accomplishments. Right after I typed “The End,” I drove down the highway in the middle of the night to get printer cartridges, screaming along with the radio so loudly that I was hoarse the next day, and then came back home and just watched it roll out of the printer, laughing like a crazy person. It’s one of the greatest natural highs I’ve ever felt. I remember telling Jeci (who was on the West Coast and thus one of the only people I knew who was awake at the time … also, it feels very weird to be calling her Jeci again, instead of her actual name), “Everyone should do this! Everyone should get to feel like this!” It was an incredible rush.

I mean, look at this thing:

I will probably never get tired of that picture.

The working title, so you don’t strain, was The Intangible Rectangle, and the tagline was “Secrets. Lust. Danger. Meatloaf.” That manuscript still sits on my bookshelf, except now it’s dog-eared and highlighted to death. Some days I think it’s awful; some days I think it’s genius; most days I just want to finish the damn thing and be done with it.

Roller derby.

This topic is a post in and of itself. All in good time!

Hmm … am I forgetting anything?