i would get therapy if i had more time.
but i don't.
so to soothe the savage breast i'd heard that a fish tank can be very therapeutic.
so i bought a fish.
he's blue and he's a betta.
a betta fish than yours.
he lives in a bowl because a tank seemed too extravagant for one little fella.
he's called "goldy".
my suggestion was to call him frank.
as i thought that frank the fish had a nice ring to it.
and he's anything but gold.
but i was overruled by a 5yr old with very firm ideas on fish names.
so goldy it is.
the thing is that goldy's bowl sits on the kitchen table so that i can look at him when i eat or sit to read the paper.
we can keep each other company.
i didn't want him to feel alone.
he swims to the side and peers through the glass at me when i approach.
he looks almost hopeful.
goldy makes me sad.
he has such a solitary and monotonous routine.
there's nowhere to go and never a change of scene.
and already i can't stand to look at him too much because he just has such a depressing existence.
when he looks at me with a knowing blink.
as if to say,
this is it?
is THIS all there is?
i cleaned his bowl earlier because, between you and me, it gets pretty stinky.
i washed his little blue stones and cleaned out the big yellow fish which was supposed to be somewhere he could go and hide when he needed privacy.
he's never once gone in it.
i've never even seen him look in it.
maybe he goes in there when i'm not here.
maybe when i'm at work he goes in there.
hangs out in the back and just chills perhaps.
and feels safe and secure.
i don't really believe that.
i washed his little green turtle too, and put that back and then returned his lone, long bamboo stalk to its rightful place.
and then i put frank, i mean goldy, back in his home.
he did a completely frantic, panicked sort of loop de loop around the bowl.
from top to bottom in as frenzied a swim as i'd ever seen.
it was quite impressive.
i thought he was excited to be home.
'cos he'd been waiting patiently in a little container with air holes in the lid.
the one he came home from the pet store in.
i dropped in his 2nd feed of the day.
a pinch of rank smelling pellets.
and he ate one or two and then let the rest float slo-o-o-wly to the bottom of the bowl.
then i sat down across the table from him to read the paper.
i could've went in the living room and sat comfortably but
i didn't want to leave him on his own till i was certain he'd settled in again.
and when i looked up again, frank, i mean goldy, was just,
well he was just in a holding pattern.
not swimming, not moving even,
but just looking right at me.
his little face about as close to the glass as it could possibly get.
when i moved my hand towards the bowl
he moved his tail in response.
it's just the saddest thing.
poor frank, i mean goldy.
what a life.