all full of sound and fury
Sep. 26th, 2007 06:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeI am, at turns, a caged animal baring its teeth at everyone who happens past and a dancing, spinning top.
The past month has been so incredibly fucked up and insane that I can't comprehend the smallest details. I teeter between soul-crushing lows and OMG EVERYTHING IS AWESOME! highs; odd, even for me and my bizarre cycles.
At a glance:
I'm still very sad over the death of Charlie. I didn't take her body in for a necropsy because I plain just don't have the money. I've put out my feelers for another snake, but I'm taking that slow. I want another scaley friend, but I'm not in a rush. Money, as always, is a factor in this.
One of the cats has fallen ill, Mittens. He used to be as fat asLunchbox Tinker, but ever since my mother left for the hospital and never came home, he has not been the same. He's a different feline now, which is distressing. The weight got so alarming and his behavior changed so dramatically, that I took him to the vet the other day and received a diagnosis of insufficient kidney function, which in less fancier words basically means that he is in the early stages of kidney failure. Being fifteen years old, he's at great risk of this. Along with diabetes (which Nympho has) and hyperthyroidism (which Misty had). I didn't relish the idea of dealing with another diabetic or hyperthyroid kitty, but I'd take either of those over this. He needs to be on a completely opposite diet of what he had been on and now must be fed in the bathroom to keep the other cats from eating his food and vice versa. He's been on this diet for about a week and I haven't noticed any weight gain, although he's stopped acting so blessed weird all the time. Now it's only part of the time.
My car remains, as ever, an anxiety. The hose was re-soldered back on to the radiator and I was sent on my way to the tune of over five hundred dollars (about $175 of this was for the tow from Trenton). It's still leaking transmission fluid and Lord knows what else. And because of my father's behavior over this (I'm not going to get into it because I'll just get riled up again; needless to say, I don't enjoy people telling me what to do with my own goddamn money), I've been contemplating getting my own car on the road. My own car, with my own car insurance. However, there's a reason why my father pays for everything with the Eldorado: because I can't afford it on my own. There's no way possible I could afford a car payment and an insurance payment. This idea has been backburnered, but I constantly pick it up and hold it to the light.
Work is still work and it still makes me crazy. It's gotten to the point that whenever I'm paged by a certain person who I'll call the Skeksis, I cringe. Or show my teeth to the phone. Or flail around, making obscene hand gestures. I. Hate. That. Woman. I hate her like I have hated no one else before in my entire life. Beyond her simpering buffoonry, there's also the omnipresent specter of layoffs looming over all of our heads. Yes, I've been whoring my resume all over God's green earth.
I've been sick for the past few days. I've had an itchiness all over my face, accompianied by red blotches, and have been suffering through a general all-around ickiness of feeling. At first, I thought it was something I ate on Sunday night because we ordered from a Chinese take-out that we'd never ordered from before. But, the more I examine my symptoms and the more I think about things, I think it's largely stress-related and thusly, largely work-related. I left early on Monday, stayed home on Tuesday, and dragged myself back into the office today. The past few days, I've rarely been vertical and instead, spent a large portion of my time on my couch with any number of cats grouped around me and generally, just felt shitty.
I think I need to start seeing some kind of mental health professional. Problem being, I can not afford the health insurance my work offers. Our lowest, shittiest plan is roughly a hundred dollars. Out of every paycheck. And that wouldn't be the plan I'd pick because it is, after all, shitty. I largely don't qualify for reduced-cost care because, get this, you'll love it: I make too much money. Hah! And I can't even find much information about reduced-cost care on top of that. Lovely, isn't it? I'm still looking; I haven't given up on it and am still open to ideas.
Tomorrow would have been my mother's 63rd birthday. It's gotten to the point where I kind of forget what life was like with her in it, if that makes any sense. I forget and it hurts that I forget. And at the same time, my life is so much easier without dealing with her medical problems that I'm halfway happier without her. And if you think that doesn't affect me in thirty different ways to Sunday, you're sorely fucking mistaken. Guilt for days, I tell you.
So that things aren't all doom and gloom, I went camping this weekend with the Engineer and Miss Ella and Tony, which was quite lovely. Even if the skies opened up on us Saturday afternoon and drenched us to the skin. I laughed my way through the entire spectacle. At one point, we had just finished moving the tents out of The River Runs Fucking Through It and Tony and I glanced at each other. Proceded to crack the fuck up for about ten minutes straight, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard. Later, I got to burn things and talk shit. Two things I am excellent at doing.
Class tonight. Stress Management. Irony does not escape me.
The past month has been so incredibly fucked up and insane that I can't comprehend the smallest details. I teeter between soul-crushing lows and OMG EVERYTHING IS AWESOME! highs; odd, even for me and my bizarre cycles.
At a glance:
I'm still very sad over the death of Charlie. I didn't take her body in for a necropsy because I plain just don't have the money. I've put out my feelers for another snake, but I'm taking that slow. I want another scaley friend, but I'm not in a rush. Money, as always, is a factor in this.
One of the cats has fallen ill, Mittens. He used to be as fat as
My car remains, as ever, an anxiety. The hose was re-soldered back on to the radiator and I was sent on my way to the tune of over five hundred dollars (about $175 of this was for the tow from Trenton). It's still leaking transmission fluid and Lord knows what else. And because of my father's behavior over this (I'm not going to get into it because I'll just get riled up again; needless to say, I don't enjoy people telling me what to do with my own goddamn money), I've been contemplating getting my own car on the road. My own car, with my own car insurance. However, there's a reason why my father pays for everything with the Eldorado: because I can't afford it on my own. There's no way possible I could afford a car payment and an insurance payment. This idea has been backburnered, but I constantly pick it up and hold it to the light.
Work is still work and it still makes me crazy. It's gotten to the point that whenever I'm paged by a certain person who I'll call the Skeksis, I cringe. Or show my teeth to the phone. Or flail around, making obscene hand gestures. I. Hate. That. Woman. I hate her like I have hated no one else before in my entire life. Beyond her simpering buffoonry, there's also the omnipresent specter of layoffs looming over all of our heads. Yes, I've been whoring my resume all over God's green earth.
I've been sick for the past few days. I've had an itchiness all over my face, accompianied by red blotches, and have been suffering through a general all-around ickiness of feeling. At first, I thought it was something I ate on Sunday night because we ordered from a Chinese take-out that we'd never ordered from before. But, the more I examine my symptoms and the more I think about things, I think it's largely stress-related and thusly, largely work-related. I left early on Monday, stayed home on Tuesday, and dragged myself back into the office today. The past few days, I've rarely been vertical and instead, spent a large portion of my time on my couch with any number of cats grouped around me and generally, just felt shitty.
I think I need to start seeing some kind of mental health professional. Problem being, I can not afford the health insurance my work offers. Our lowest, shittiest plan is roughly a hundred dollars. Out of every paycheck. And that wouldn't be the plan I'd pick because it is, after all, shitty. I largely don't qualify for reduced-cost care because, get this, you'll love it: I make too much money. Hah! And I can't even find much information about reduced-cost care on top of that. Lovely, isn't it? I'm still looking; I haven't given up on it and am still open to ideas.
Tomorrow would have been my mother's 63rd birthday. It's gotten to the point where I kind of forget what life was like with her in it, if that makes any sense. I forget and it hurts that I forget. And at the same time, my life is so much easier without dealing with her medical problems that I'm halfway happier without her. And if you think that doesn't affect me in thirty different ways to Sunday, you're sorely fucking mistaken. Guilt for days, I tell you.
So that things aren't all doom and gloom, I went camping this weekend with the Engineer and Miss Ella and Tony, which was quite lovely. Even if the skies opened up on us Saturday afternoon and drenched us to the skin. I laughed my way through the entire spectacle. At one point, we had just finished moving the tents out of The River Runs Fucking Through It and Tony and I glanced at each other. Proceded to crack the fuck up for about ten minutes straight, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard. Later, I got to burn things and talk shit. Two things I am excellent at doing.
Class tonight. Stress Management. Irony does not escape me.
