I've been a bit depressed.
Anybody who has seen my Weighing Pork Chop video series and has thought about the kind of relationship that Pork Chop and I must have in order to produce such a series together would surely know that we love each other very very much. He is the closest thing I will ever have to having a human baby, so I treat him with what some would call an unusual amount of care and affection. Pork Chop is also a very social cat. Though he meows little and doesn't clamor for attention like some high-maintenance animals, he does enjoy being interactive with people.
Although I very much appreciate being up in the San Francisco Bay Area for about two months (after all, I will always consider SF my home, and Jukebox Stories has been so gratifying on so many levels), I really really really miss Pork Chop. He has been such a significant part of my daily life for several years now that I truly do feel like a part of me has been missing since I left L.A. And as the days and weeks progress, my longing to spend some time with him just gets deeper and deeper. Pork Chop is one of my best friends.
I also worry for his well-being. Loren, of course, is terrific with Pork Chop, but he works like a 50-hour work week, which means Pork Chop is left alone for long periods of time without the social interaction that he craves.
It's becoming common to find me in bed, thinking about Pork Chop, clutching a pillow, and trying not to cry.
Fortunately for me, I haven't had too much time to suffer because I've been occupied with performing Jukebox Stories: The Case of the Creamy Foam; doing a series of adjunct events; teaching playwriting to high school students; developing a new educational theater tour for a school district; attending the plays of friends and colleagues; and trying to catch up with old and new friends when I can. All this leaves me seriously behind on the film work that I left hanging when I left L.A. Which is to say that when I'm not depressed about Pork Chop I'm panicking about the things I have to get done.
In my home in Glendale, I don't panic. When that feeling starts, I just lean over to Pork Chop, kiss him on the forehead, and know that everything will be all right.
According to YouTube's counter, you've already seen this like 11,000 times, but I must repost it in honor of my child: