Wistful.

I can't think of a better word for the way I'm feeling. Websters defined it as a sad longing and desire. At first I didn't think that was quite right, but on a second look it fits.

I'm wistful about missing what seems to have been an exceptionally cool event. (And I know the Seven Sacraments darn it!).

I'm reading diary entries that are sending me sniffling. Tributes to one of my favorite people of all time: Kane. My sad story is that he was gone and I didn't even know until after the fact. Munchie was just born and I was out of touch with things. I'd have liked to have gone to the funeral to say goodbye. He was such a dear.

Once he came and crashed at Tara's and my place for an event. I fed him burgers at 2 in the morning and breakfast before the event. I talked him through the directions back from the post-revel at 0-god-thirty when he went the wrong way, and sat on my bed in the morning chatting with him about every and anything. He teased me that I looked pissed that we went out to breakfast instead of letting me cook. But I had the stuff to cook everything on that breakfast bar. I doubt I could have cooked enough to fill him up, though.

What a wonderful person, what a terrible loss for us all.

Does the dog hear a sniffly Deb? The fuzzy one never hangs out with me and here he is at my feet. Geeze gotta love the canine intuition.

Sigh.