A Writer's Notebook, Day Four-Hundred-And-Three

I added my third poem this morning, and am glad to say I was able to get all my work done, despite my not being at all in the mood to write or think.  It is far easier to just not think right now, to be apart from things a bit.  But, writing requires presence, and I won't stop my work.  I have attempted to explain this before, but I am not certain I've done so in a way that makes sense.  I have a lot of very strong, positive memories of Ulysses, and the responsibilities I took on in caring for him did a great deal to make me a more productive person.  Waking each morning at eight am to medicate him, for example, helped to inspire me to do writing in those early hours.  I think the dedication to him also showed me that I could make daily routines and habits that worked, if it was important enough to me.  Allowing the work habits I've developed to fade would ultimately be something I regretted, and it would also become associated with Ulysses's death, which would be terrible.  In many ways, I feel that Ulysses taught me many things through what I became in caring for him, and the love I felt for him as a result of taking on those responsibilities, as well as the reward of his presence and joy.  He was entirely dependent upon Melissa and I taking turns, around the clock, to give him medication, and we had many times when we also had to keep him from harm during an attack, even if it was short or otherwise minor.  It was difficult at times, but we felt, even now still feel, very lucky.  Some of this, of course, is just a trick of psychology, that what one cares about and dedicates time to becomes more significant.  It does not matter, though, why, in the end, the result was that he was very special, and I loved him a huge amount, as did Melissa.  It would really be awful to look back on the tragedy of his death and feel the loss of my writing momentum was a byproduct.  So, I keep going.