Today is my mother's birthday and also, in a twist of cosmic weirdness, my old friend Tony's birthday. (I seem to get on well with Cancers.) Happy birthday and lots of love to you both.

I watched Requiem for a Dream last night. I still feel shell-shocked today. Darren Aronofsky must have some vivid nightmares. Words like "wrenching" and "stunning" come to mind, but I can't review this film. Ellen Burstyn's performance has taken up permanent residence in the darkest corner of my mind, where I hide all my fears. In her most harrowing scene, her Sara Goldfarb, sanity already lost and clinging to the last shreds of her dignity, shouts, "I'm old! Could you do any better?" I cried to keep from screaming. Aronofsky has made a powerful, astonishing film, but I will never see it again.

[Note: Rereading this entry during archiving in November, 2002, the paragraph above still brings me to the brink of tears. I really will never see this movie again. I can't overstate how powerful it is.]

Cricket is starting to display serious behavior problems, which sounds funny but isn't. She claws at the door of the apartment, making that nails-on-a-chalkboard sound, bites my feet, wakes me from sleep by pricking the skin of my hands with her claws, swipes at my legs as I walk by. Occasionally she actually attacks me, biting and hissing, then backs off fast. She spends the rest of her time lying sprawled on the floor or curled in her cat bed, clearly depressed.

She is not receptive to petting. She ducks away from my hand, inspects it, and bites me if I try to touch her again. She has tiny mats in her fur along her back, where she can't reach, and gets angry if I touch them. And yet she will not leave me alone.

She gets bright-eyed for a moment when I bring out an interactive toy, and chases it with aggressive hostility for a few minutes. Then she starts watching my hand instead and seems disinterested in the toy when it's clear that I'm holding the other end.

She's bored. She's depressed. She's frustrated, so much so that it's coming out in bursts of rage. I don't have the slightest idea what to do. I guess I'll call the vet on Monday and see what she advises. Poor Cricket.

Man. I need something to make me smile. And I need to get that movie out of my apartment. Maybe I'll pick up a bottle of wine while I'm out. Something's gotta give.