On apartment shame and cat-moving

The guy who's been letting Hemingway use his apartment wants to have a talk with him tomorrow about stuff. I have a sinking feeling that this stuff might be regarding some small burns that might've been the result of pans that were a little too hot for the wooden counter top, and I feel absolutely terrible. His mentioning it also made me remember that I actually have some stuff that I'd forgotten there, and the second-hand embarrassment is enough to make me want to go over there tomorrow and take it all back home. Whenever something gets broken or a bit messed up on my watch, I always feel that horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I just want to curl into a ball and disappear somewhere going "Sorry sorry sorry sorry", avoiding the person that's been wronged for all eternity, hoping that everything will be forgotten and never mentioned ever again.

There are no words that fill me with more dread than "We need to talk."
I tend to blame myself for a lot of stuff that's not so much my problem as someone else's, and not even in a proportional way either. I'll beat myself up about stuff months, sometimes even years after, and it's just so terribly counter-productive. Technically this all falls on Hemingway, seeing as it's his friend and he was the one who has the responsibility, but since I spent a lot of time there too, I feel like I automatically take on feeling bad for a lot of the stuff. It sucks, and I wish there was something to do about it. Hemingway seems to feel kinda crappy about it too, but said it was fixable and that he'd be looking for another place once he came back. If things get really bad, then of course he can crash with me for a bit, but I'd rather that this situation was resolved quickly without loss of face or friendship.

On a rather unrelated note, I've come to question the need for cats. What do cats do, really, apart from lie on your keyboard and prevent you from typing? Yes, they're cute, but oh my god, the fur. There's fur everywhere - on me, in my food, just everywhere. They wake you up at five in the morning because they're little bastards, and you can't bring them anywhere without a million things and them yowling in their little cage. They're pretty much un-trainable, and they'll eat your potted plants. I'm not sure I'll ever understand the people who pick cats over dogs. A dog is just so much more useful and fun.


I brought Tara back to my house today, which turned out to be a much harder job than I thought it would be. After having been around here for half a week or so, I'm finding it all less squee than I thought I would. I used to really like cats for a while, and I wanted one for myself, but the older I get the less enamored I am with them. I don't dislike them, and I sure don't dislike Tara personally, but I just don't really see the appeal with having something basically as lazy as I am. Then again, she just literally came over and plopped down next to me on the couch to hang out, so I guess I can kinda relate. They are rather cuddly after all.