Shame on me. I didn't write at all through November.

First of all, <a href=http://deadletter.org/go/pets>pictures of the cats</a>.

When I last wrote, I was taking GK to the doctor. On our way there, I asked her if she was going to vote on the upcoming election.

"Oh...well, I don't know, there's no one with charisma to vote for. Clinton at least had charisma..."

I stifled a groan and mentioned some of the issues I thought were important. Charisma was the least of my concerns--I just wanted a guy who was pro-choice and not an idiot, in other words, not Bush.

"Are you registered to vote?" I asked her as she tried to change the subject.

"No...cause when you register then you have to go to traffic school, and plus then they draw your name out and put you on jury duty."

"I think," I told her, trying to not laugh or sound patronizing, "that what you're thinking of is that you can register when you get your driver's license."

But I didn't push it. My head asked me half-jokingly if I really wanted people like that to vote, and the doctor's office, mercifully just up the street, kept me from getting any more complacent.

"Is there anything of mine that you like?" she asked me later as we sat in the waiting room.

"Huh?" I was taken aback.

"You know, anything you'd like to have. I'm giving my stuff away," she said, and stifled a sniffle.

Of course. She was sure she was dying; she had found a lump on her breast a few days earlier, and we were at the doctor so she could get it checked out. There was a time when the thought of my own death made me sad and teary-eyed. I'm not sure what happened; maybe I have no soul, but it hasn't bothered me a bit for some time now.

"Well, you know, you're going to die anyway. The lump probably won't be anything to be worried about, and you could be walking out of here and get hit by a truck or have a meteorite land on your head. On the other hand, it could turn out to be cancerous and you could get it treated and live to be a hundred,” I shrugged.

For some reason, this didn't seem to be of any comfort to her.

[And no, it wasn't cancerous. She's doing perfectly fine now and has forgotten all about dying and giving her things away.]