Bearinamug Attack!

Awww... I have a new Bearinamug from Eviljob. This makes like, sixty-three thousand and two. I'm going to start selling them on eBay. I have enough coffee mugs to keep a small third world country caffinated for the next ten years.

Squoosh just loved the balloon that came with the Bearinamug. Note the past tense. I had to give it to him, 'cos when he saw it, he wanted it so badly!

May whomever invented those things rot in hell for all eternity; they're just too easy to pick up and give when you don't know what else to give! Oh, yeah; I'm guilty too.

Eviljob could have sucked worse today. Well, for the most part. I was teased (again) today for getting teary-eyed, something I sometimes do over poems in The Writer's Almanac, which I receive by email in case I miss the broadcast. But it's a *good* kind of teary. This one was the 20 May poem which I probably don't have permission to reproduce, so I'll just link to it: To My Cat With An Eating Disorder.

What can I say? It reminded me of Squooshable. My god...he'll eat anything. As much of anything as possible, until he's the fat-tummed beast (as Meg calls him) once again. Then he'll keep going back to the food dish every few minutes to eat another bite. For this reason I can't let him have standing food. At least not right now. Butsoanyway, I read that and came up all tear-filled and oh, don't they just love that at Eviljob. Eh. I don't care; it's good for the soul.

I'm still not really dealing with this whole brother thing. I'm upset and angry at him, and I rarely go back and edit my previous posts (usually only if I for some weird reason reread one and see some god-awful typographical error, or something), and ever since I stopped trying to obfuscate my writing style (by typing it in Word first and running it through Word's checker, correcting things which I agreed were probably wrong), I pretty much just type and go. So if I say something horrible about him, the things he has done, or this country or anything, I would be tempted to go back and change it after I calmed down. This is one of the drawbacks of not just writing it in a journal; there's always the temptation to go back and change what you've done. I haven't done it yet (except for glaring mistakes, like typing "than" when I meant "then", which for some reason I do quite often), but the temptation's there, especially if it makes me look petty, or stupid, or hysterical, or neurotic, or retarded...

Hmmm... If I changed all that, this'd be one blank blog.

Oh, well; I live in this skin, so I guess one would hope that I've become accustomed to looking petty, stupid, hysterical, neurotic, retarded, and a bunch of other things. :-) Yeah, I have.

As I'm typing this, Squoosh has been given his evening meds and food, and put to bed. He's crying, and it's breaking my heart. I hope that he soon can be let out into General Population. :-) He does, also. Even though I want him out so that we can cuddle, play, and he can get to meet the other cats up close, he wants out so that he can have a go at the older cats' standing food bowls. I swear--Squoosh has food radar that is *unbelieveable*. I can carry him from one room to the other in my arms, and he'll eye all the food out in between the bathroom and our destination as if he were memorising its location so that he can find it later, when he escapes. We've been having storms, and I just hope that he's not scared. When I'm home, I'll go in there with him, or bring him out with me and try to keep my other cats away. But I know that's not fair to them, so I try not to take him out for more than an hour or two. I don't want to hurt their feelings.

See? Neurotic.

I'm putting the finishing touches on some "can I pleeeeease" paperwork and "gimme some money" paperwork for this semester's projects. I have until the tenth, but I feel as if it will never be done; I keep changing things and seeing imperfections and things I've forgotten to mention. Augh. I need to get used to the feeling that nothing will ever be accomplished. It all seems to be getting done, just slowly and imperfectly. Sigh.

And I have a "have to" travel coming up. Problem is, as usual, I don't *want* to. I love travelling, but the work-related travelling sucks; it's never at the right time, it's to places that I may want to see but not (a) at this time; (b) by force; (c) with commitments to do/say/see /think/perform hanging over my head. Plus I have to fly. Flying's icky enough without the body cavity searches that have to be undergone. I've gotten to where I hate it. Plus I'm afraid of crashing. I guess in some ways I'm a control freak, and I don't wholly trust whomever's doing the piloting; what if they become distracted? Or they graduated in the bottom of their class, or something? What if they have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the trip? Or a stroke? A nervous breakdown would be worse, because then they're still up and running, and you'd not be certain they needed someone to take over. And I don't know how to fly a plane, if I were to need to. And I'm not sure I could learn quickly enough; I'm slow at picking up some things. And I wouldn't trust anyone else who volunteered, 'cos hell...if they're such a great pilot, why aren't they flying their own selves to wherever? They may be a pilot that was fired for malpractice, or malfeasance, or whatever it is pilots are terminated over, and you've no way to know until they crash you into the ground.

Ok...I'm not thinking about this anymore, or I'll never get to sleep. I don't wanna go. That's all there is to say on that subject.