Squooshable is half-ok. He’s as ok as he was before. I’m mostly just a moron who panics. His vet says that it’s too early to test him again; two weeks ago they tested him for both FeLV and FIV. I had been concerned that an ELISA only did one or the other, which he said is sort-of correct, but his policy is that whenever he checks for one, he checks for both as a matter of routine. I’m not an expert, and he explained it, but I’ve mostly forgotten. It’s something about antibodies versus antigens (if I’m not misremembering the terms), so I guess I’m running off of old information. It’s highly possible. But anyway, Squoosh was negative for both two weeks ago and per Dr Vet, it’s pointless to test him again until he’s twelve weeks old because of the time period needed for the virus to incubate enough to show up.
Dr Vet also said that the lymph nodes in Squoosh’s neck are swollen because Squoosh’s ear infection is still not gone. The severity apparently wasn’t being exaggerated two weeks ago. It’s not oozing crap outside of his ear anymore and hasn’t for a while, but it’s still swollen and infected deep inside. Squoosh loudly registered his displeasure at having the scope-thingy stuck down his ear, but then forgot about it less then five minutes later and ate two dog vitamins. :-)
Yeah, dog vitamins. They’re apparently really similar to cat vitamins. Go figure. As far as Squoosh is concerned, his favourite food is food.
Oh; and Dr Vet said that FIV lymph node issues would be more systemic, not just in one area (usually). So I’m a panicky imbecile. At least Squoosh’s vet thinks it’s funny, so someone’s benefiting at least. :-) I'm glad I entertain. He asked me to please assure him that I hadn’t stayed up the night crying, like with Puff, or the last time my older cat had a respiratory infection.
Ummm...thanks for remembering that. I guess I made an impression. Geez. May I go die of embarrassment now? Please?
What can I say? I have no excuse. I’m guilty of worrying, being emotional, and other bad things. So shoot me. I could do worse things, and I’ve never claimed to be perfect.
After I left the vet, I decided I needed a mental health day, and blew off everything and did nothing. It felt weird, but I did watch a lot of TV, something I haven’t done in a long time.
Eviljob sucked ass today. I started off doing what I usually do on Saturdays, and then got sweet-talked into a “Downhill” task. That’s as in where shit flows—something someone else didn’t want to do, or the person they pawned it off to, or the next in line for the duty, so they kept passing it along down the (poop) chute until they came to me. I swear to god, I might as well have been walking down the hall from the bathroom and gotten pounced on in a corporate game of Tag-You’re-It. I was allowed the privilege (oh…no…my *pleasure*, really!) to be a “resource” (said as if I had any idea what the answers to any questions were) to a group of new recruits—for a department in which I have never, ever worked!!!! AUGH! I was too stupid to look down at my watchless wrist and declare that I “had a thing”. :-)
Ok, granted—before I got the position before the one I have now (if that’s hard to follow, my resume’d be cause for cringing; you actually *can* have six different jobs, most with wholly different descriptions, and still work for the same company the entire time. I’ve moved laterally a lot since first casting a shadow on their doorstep—that’s why I’ve not moved *up* as much as I could have), I *did* interview to be one of that department’s regional trainers. And that did entail researching what exactly the hell they did (more than anything else I wanted to get out of where I was before I became Completely Crackers), although all a regional trainer really does is learn the material handed down from Above or an outside vendor superfast and then re-teach it (ok—not always, and they sometimes develop, depending on qualifications, but whatever—in general, I’ve given a good Reader’s Digest version of the job). So I’ve a few years’ worth of stale knowledge about what these young’uns are doing; in other words, I’m worthless to them—too much has changed since I knew what I was talking about, from policies, to systems, to even Managers and Supervisors, chains of command, etc... And I know it; it’s unfair to the young’uns. Not that they’re all eighteen, or anything—I mean “young’uns” figuratively.
Butsoanyway.
So I babysat. I tried being as helpful as I could, but finally ended up just opting for being nice. And saying a lot of “do this for the time being, and tell Them that Ancodia told you to do this if they ask, and I’ll find out what the *real* answer is, and email it to you” ‘cos I couldn’t figure out fast enough what else to tell them. And I’m too nice—this is why half the building of young’uns and still-wet-behind-the-ears former young’uns will walk over to the other half of the building to ask me a question when their Fearless Leader is absent before doing anything else--like thinking. And in being nice, I tried too hard (apparently) to make them comfortable—I had one girl distracting herself every five minutes to ask me for something. She was asking me to get everything from a glass of water (huh?!? And you can’t get that yourself because of…???) to moisturising lotion. No. I’m not kidding. Moisturising lotion. That has to be one of the most bizarre requests I’ve ever had in a training class. Well, it for sure makes the Top Ten; I’ve had a few other doozies. Lotion? What do I look like—a stewardess? A concierge? Is this something you think we keep in the lounge, next to the wet bar on the
And no; she didn’t say anything even remotely normal such as, “do you have any lotion I could use?” No. What she said (while I was in the middle of trying to help another young’un with a real problem) was, “when you get a chance, could you go get me some lotion?”
Ahhh…yeah. You wait here, and I’ll pop down to CVS and see what I can do about that.
Okay, okay; I was nice about it. I told her that I didn’t have any with me (truth), and I wasn’t sure where I would be able to get some in the building, especially on the weekend, where I couldn’t even ask many people’s permission to use theirs. She just looked at me as if I were a very unhelpful stewardess, and went back to what she should be doing.
Yeah…call Eviljob Airways and register a complaint, whydon’cha.
Sigh.
In between Ms Pesteryouruthlessly and the young’uns with real problems, I thought I was going to go bonkers. I literally never stopped moving all day—it was bouncing from one to the other to the other; I took no break (it wasn’t fair to—their breaks were staggered across the shift, so I would have abandoned some of them), and the only time I got to sit down was when I had to look something up that required manager access, and I then got to theft one of their dep’t manager’s seats. For a minute or two.
Whenever I did find a second to stop, I was accosted by Mr Chatty. Pretty much every class has a Chatty. Chatties will drop whatever they’re doing to come and schmooze, under the guise of seeking help. They have a question, but it doesn’t stop there—they then want to get a run-down of your resume (both too much, and not enough, so there); why you did this, that, and the other (‘cos I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing); where you think is a good place to park (anywhere—but look out for the cats, and feed them if you are a Nice Person); what do you think of Policy x (I try not to. Really.); do you like the food here (Who here named Ancodia ever gets to eat?!?); do you play video games (yeah, sure; my favourite one is called, “Let’s Look Rules and Regulations Up On The Company Intranet”. In fact, I like it so much that I’m playing it RIGHT NOW!); who do you talk to about the violence inherent in the system here (I’d recommend a pastor, or a trained counsellor), and so forth.
No, I didn’t really say that.
In fairness, Mr Chatty seemed like a nice guy; he even offered to get something for me to eat or drink (no, I did never mention anything to him—I’m not like that—for all of my complaining here, I would never even hint at that, or show discomfort in any way; that’s not fair to whatever Thems I’m dealing with). So I declined of course, but thanked him (kind offer, but no time).
Augh. My feet hurt. My brain hurts. I want Approved Medical Leave.
Thank god that I don’t have to do this again tomorrow, or I’d have to plath the bejeezus out of myself. Or go tag-you’re-it some unsuspecting janitor.
Mwahahaha!
Ack. Pffftt.
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