I'm cured...and overtired.

Well, one week later, and I still have fang marks, but I am off antibiotics for my Squoosh bite. Everyone thinks I should be hating him now; is there something wrong with me that I don't? To my mind, that's like getting angry at a two year-old for wetting the bed when they're upset. Sure, it's not *desirable*, but animals and tiny humans have very limited ways to express themselves. I think of how I would feel if I couldn't get the aliens who kidnapped me to understand that I said 'NO!'. The same goes for not getting why few understand that cats and dogs down at the City Pound on Death Row may *look* hateful, but they are fucking TERRIFIED. Wouldn't you be? They aren't so stupid that they can't smell Death. If any of this happened to us, we'd be sad, scared, hostile... It makes my heart hurt, because it sometimes seems like most of the world couldn't care less about the suffering of another. I cried over a Death Row cat who a rescue group was trying to find a foster home for was about six, and he had a hernia. And that gets labelled 'bad temperament'. He has lost probably the only home he has ever known, he misses his family, he is surrounded by scary animals, and he is in pain. What in the fuck kind of inhumane asshats are we?

I am upsetting myself. I need sleep. Love you, mean it.


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Ow.

It's been a busy week. Last Sunday, Squoosh bit me. No, really. On my arm. He caught a vein somehow; there was blood everywhere. Well, I stopped the bleeding and found my doctor (on a Sunday, which was no small feat) so the bite didn't get reported, and am now finishing up a week of doxycycline and cefalexin. Squoosh bit me because he is very unhappy these days; he doesn't like the packing and constant commotion.

I've had a paper due with Karen all week, and we suck; we are such procrastinators. I have to go in a sec, but I'll be back.




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Ready, set, panic!

I have all the stimuli (mostly) I will be using, my meetings with my advisor are going swell, and I need to step up my packing behaviour.

That being said...

I am having to sneak and feed the Eviljob colony; the old property manager moved to Tahiti to find himself, and Management took the opportunity to become asshats over tending the colony. So I have to get with the new property manager and re-get permission to feed and trap. Sigh. Always something.

I had surgery on Friday morning to de-endometriosis me again; I'm on Roxicet which I am supplementing with Tramadol, Cataflam, and wine. Meg drove me to and from, and I already feel better, though the damned Roxicet is wreaking havoc on my sleep schedule. Worse, over this long weekend, I have to tidy up a ten-page conference submission and prep a poster for a different conference. And my washing machine ate my favourite patchwork blanket. Boo.

This Guy is turning out to be a lump. When I was first scheduled for surgery, I offered to discuss what was going on -- asked him if he wanted to know -- and was met with a lightning-quick 'no'. Seems he's a little squeamish over surgeries and the like. He is really ringing all of my 'flake' bells; I am trying to not be harsh and negative, but his ex-wife is a nurse, and some fifteen years ago, he was in school with her to do the same, and working as a nursing aide (or so he claims). How in the crap can you be squeamish? I'm not even in the damned field, never worked a DAY as a medical anything (taking care of Mummers doesn't count), and just growing up as a doctor's daughter (and granddaughter) has ushered me into a life of bluntness and inappropriate dinner conversation. People barf, people shit, people have sucking chest wounds, eye trauma, DIC, and viscera that needs to be put back where they came from...that's Life.

This isn't the first time that I have questioned the veracity of some things. On the other hand, I have had the feeling that many people I have known throughout my life say more than their prayers, which has led me to wonder why I find all the looneybirds. I have seriously thought about this. Thoughte the Firste is that I somehow attract them...I wish I knew how. Other options I find less probable, such as the proposition that *everyone* has just as many nuts and liars in their life, I just notice it more. Since I have a hard time believing that, I'm going with the simplest explanation -- I attract them.

Butsoanyway.

I am drifting off to sleep again; I will have to finish later. For now, let's just say that I am hurt. He hasn't even asked me how the surgery went. He doesn't even know what it was for.

Oh, I'll vent later. Right now, I am falling asleep.









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Shhh...

I cannot say anything yet, so I'll have to cheer here. My brother is finally back in the USA, and will be on his way home to Washington in a few hours. Yesterday broke my heart, because he was supposed to be back last weekend. I know that it hurt him to miss Father's Day with his children.

I can't say anything yet publicly, because that's just how our family is, it's kind of a Jewish superstition sort of thing. It's weird how even though Meg and I are atheists, the years of enculturation still kick in; when something good happens, one doesn't celebrate until it *actually* happens, and it's better to not talk about at all...as if I personally have the ability to make his plane to WA crash, or something.

Yeah, I'm amazing like that.

The past six weeks have been hellish; I taught Summer A courses, and haven't had a moment to think.

I have to go get crap written, but I was simply bursting to tell someone that dear Brat was home from Shitcanistan. Well, home-ish. I wish I could have gone to pick him up with Meg, but there was no way to get coverage or time at both jobs. :( *I* am really upset, but I'll live. Meg feels terribly about it, so she bought a couple Oprah bras for me at the mall near Ft. Bumpkin, where Brat is hoofing into from his plane.

I typically don't wear Oprah bras; that's a Meg thing, so I don't know what they are called.

I really must be upset over this whole brother thing, because I have been cramping up a storm. Bleurgh.

Ok...back to work before I crash a plane.




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Happy Memorial Day

I want my brother back stateside. And I am sooo fricking hungry. I'm teaching a six-week class, and it is kicking my ass. And I really want to get food...dang. I have all tomorrow to work, so I am going to try to get everything done...all at once.

Meg left for Minneapolis for the weekend, and I went over to see This Guy tonight for a few hours cos he has his son this weekend.

omfg...I'm watching Law & Order (Mummers and I used to watch it together a lot; SVU was one if her favourite shows), and they just showed a commercial for Eggies, and now I'm starving. Bastards.

Butsoanyway. So I went over to TG's house for a few hours and watched him play Left 4 Dead. Whee. While I was just sitting there, I was on my cell quietly helping Harry write some motions for the court hearing over the shiteous mess that is his rental situation; he's finally had to start paying rent to the court to hold cos the management company won't re-wire the kitchen even though it's a code violation, a fire hazard, and they were ordered by a judge to repair it immediately a year ago. No, seriously...I couldn't make this stuff up.

But so I didn't get much done today, and so tomorrow has to be a work day. And I know I annoyed TG by not being wholly enrapt by watching him play, but who cares? He surely is not losing sleep over me.

Speaking of sleep, I may write more later, but for the moment, I'm going to try falling asleep.




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Blargh!

Once again, the asshats at Eviljob who can't wrap their minds around feral cat colony management are trying to tell me to not manage the colony. I really pissed off one of the managers when I explained that I totally *invite* them to ring Animal Services, who won't collect ear-tipped cats. Good luck with that, Shit-for-Brains.

Like I needed this on top of everything else going on. I'm playing hell trying to cram what is normally a full-semester course into six weeks, and I'm still having money issues, though it's getting better. And I have to get my act together and get graduated...fast. Bwaah! I am over-tired...just ignore me.


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Happy Mother's Day

To ALL moms, even moms of furbabies. I am really missing Mummers. My life is so...screwed up. I have a major presentation on Wednesday, and I cannot sleep. I will be fine, I always am. Just now is bad. Fuck that 'be here now' shit; now sucks.

I cannot tell if This Guy is giving me space, or getting tired of me. Who knows; who cares? If I can just get through Wednesday, that's what matters. And family. Family matters, too. We're all fine.




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