terribleturnip: (percy)
So, it’s not even noon and I’ve damn near lost the will to live. So, I’m taking a mental health break. Well, to narrow it down, today I’m really questioning a bunch of life choices.

Like, next time on the wheel, that’s it, I volunteered enough this time around. Screw it. For the record, I am not talking about the Pyrate camp here – the ratio of fun to work is definitely in balance there, and there’s plenty of appreciation. Which I do get in my other volunteer positions…just sometimes that can’t overcome the paucity of fun to hard work ratio and the feeling that I’ve just got a second job…one that actually costs me money. And I start to feel that somewhere along the line I got on the wrong path…

And then, I took a half day on Friday and I gave five people assignments, relatively small, that they needed to complete so that when I got in on Monday, I could just approve stuff and send it out. What are the odds that not a single person would have done what they needed to do?

Apparently 100%...so now I’ve lost another half day in following up on things that should have been done…and I’ve missed FIVE deadlines.

And I can’t even feel sorry for myself, because there’s a shooter loose in the Navy Yard, and I’m trying not to think about all the friends I have who work there…and then really, what does it matter whether they’re friends of mine or not…they’re friends of someone, and some nutbag with a crazy agenda is after them. Expletive.

Okay, shaking that off. Too.

When I came out of the house this morning, my neighbor was coming out with her adorable three year old son and packing him into the car. She looked at me and said “I’m so envious of you, after having spent the morning trying to wrestle this three year old into clothes and breakfast and then out of the house and you can just walk out and get into the car.” And I laughed and said “oh, well, you missed the part where I had to give a cat liquid antibiotics.” Although it is true, it’s nice being responsible for just getting me out of the house in the morning.

But the more I thought about it, the more it reminded me of all of those hoary old clichés and homilies: the grass is always greener, don’t judge by appearances. Because here’s what she missed – that I’d been up since 5am, while her house was completely dark. I’d done a load of laundry, unpacked from the weekend, emptied and filled the dishwasher, cleaned litterboxes, toilets and the upstairs bathroom counter. I’d actually visited with her husband while he was taking out the trash and I was taking out mine. She was probably getting her son dressed and fed while I was out watering the garden and picking up the trash that had blown into my yard over the weekend. And then yes, breakfast and antibiotics for Jasper the cat. Changing the pantyhose that had run when I failed to avoid the pile of yard debris that I still haven’t taken to the dump. And Neosporin on the scrape. It’s harder than it looks to be me – most of it I chose for myself (not the clumsy part, oh, golly, do I wish THAT away!) but still, yes, you have a lot more freedom living alone…but it’s a lot more work. And someday, someday soon, that son of hers may be taking out the trash, or even driving her to work.

My kids will still be pooping in a box and will probably eat me if I fall down the stairs and don’t regain consciousness fast enough.

Grass is always greener….

Thankfully I found this gem last week and just didn’t have time to post it. Because if I ran across it today, I might just explode.

In case you thought just extremist Christians, Muslims and other hard right of whatever religious fanatics had a corner on the market of subjugating women…especially FOR THEIR OWN GOOD:


Trigger Warning: if you haven’t taken your blood pressure medication today, reading this might kill you. Keep reading though, because just when you think it’s batexpletive crazier than possible, the writer pulls out another gem. Okay, that sounds like I’m trying to kill you. Save it for another day, then, as I have few enough readers as it is.
terribleturnip: (percy)
So Jasper, my big long hair brown tabby, he of the giant fangs and once sumptuous ridiculous tail, so long and flowing haired that he couldn’t even get it to stand up straight, without it curling flirtatiously into an S…the tail never having quite been the same once he set it on fire by sticking it in a candle flame…my once incredibly spooky ex-feral who is now madly in love with any human and thinks a trip to the vet’s is just another opportunity to find new people to flirt with, is in for dental surgery today. He’s had nasal discharge for quite some time and we’ve run through a laundry list of “what could it be’s” and are now down to abscessed canines, which we’re guessing at, but he’s got to go under to find out, so today is either just a teeth cleaning or pulling the canines. I never thought I’d be crossing my fingers that I get a $900 vet bill today (assuming both teeth, possibly some adjoining need to come out) but a smaller bill means we still don’t know what’s wrong with him, or more likely, that it’s WORSE and either something involving nasal cavity surgery or terminal. I’m trying not to worry, but doing a craptastic job of that. Also, watching the last episode of Season 1 of the UK version of Being Human last night, which is essentially a montage of “good-byes”…given my mental state and general allergic reaction to “good-byes”, if by “allergic” I mean “uncontrollable sobbing”, was probably a bad idea.

And then it was a rough morning in the household. Jasper had to fast, which meant everyone had to fast. Well, not me, I have opposable thumbs, but heaven knows I probably could have used a bit of a fast. Puskin, aka ThudChincillaSpawnofSatan, a cat who is way smarter than any cat ever should be, you should thank me that I neutered him and am not now breeding our new Overlords, is self-appointed guardian of the food bowl. When the dry food bowl runs low, he follows me around the house meowing until I make eye contact, and then he meows urgently and bolts in the direction of the food bowl. He will keep this up for hours. And that’s just if it’s running low. Empty is a whole ‘nother level of panic.

So, I had a restful night, being woken up several times by him pawing my face and meowing. “Hey, hey, hey, Mom, Mom, Mom. The food bowl is empty. Empty! Did you know? You must not know or you would totally fill it. Mom. Mom. Mom. Hey, Mom.”

By morning, he was in frenzy, throwing himself against the door, while I was taking a shower, following me around, dashing to the food bowl, waiting for a few minutes and then trotting back up to wherever I was to start again. (Pushkin trots like this “Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.” If Carl Sandburg had known Pushkin, he would have had to come up with an entirely different analogy, because if fog came creeping like Pushkin, it would HURT.

Plus, low blood sugar combined with nervousness that FoodProvider had suffered some kind of brain injury was making both Spike and Mouse itchy and irritable, so they were arguing. If by “arguing” I mean that Mouse was being bitchy and Spike would lash out at her and she would fall on her side (she’s really fat) and scream bloody murder, repeatedly. Which would make me scream at Spike to knock it the hell off…and as soon as I got the two of them broken up and settled, there’d be Pushkin ready to start up again “heyheyheyheyMomFoodBowl.”

Almost a relief to get to work. Almost. Then I realize that it’s just like my morning at home, only with a little less adorable.

Update: They've already finished with him and there's nothing wrong with his teeth, so, yay, back to square one! (I don't know if you heard the beep-beep-beep sound of the Sarcasm Dumptruck backing in...) Which means we're back to: nope, no idea what's going on and not really sure what to try next. For the record, this is the fourth vet who was pretty darn sure that THIS was what his problem is. So far we're 0 for 0. Which means, sigh, time for me to become the expert on cat snot. Awesome.
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