Posts Tagged ‘Goddamned cats’

So, two days ago I ran out of dry cat food, and Los Gatos have been acting like they have NEVER BEEN FED IN THEIR ENTIRE LIVES.

I fed them wet food twice a day, but they still howled and sat in the kitchen all day. In the morning, they circled me on the bed like loud, furry sharks, smacking me with their paws, and trying to sit on my head.

Then I got their dry food, put it out in bowls and they promptly ignored it.

I do not always like my cats.

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So, I sold my books, and got a great price for some of them, and a not very good at all price for the rest. And I am totally fine with that, because the point was to get rid of stuff. The money is just a bonus. You know, for tacos.

I like tacos.

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Grant sent me healing popcorn this week, because I read on WebMD that the cure for all my illnesses was bacon and cheddar popcorn, and everyone knows that they don’t put stuff on the internet that isn’t true.

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In other news, I have decided that my totally inability to be healthy in any sense of the word is no longer going to prevent me from dating. There are a lot of people in this world, fully half of them are men, and of those there is bound to be at least one who can not only handle my freakshow of medical issues but love me because of that.

I mean, statistically, it should work, right?

So, it turns out that when you mistakenly take your nighttime meds at 8AM, what happens is you spend all day sleeping on the couch with a cat on you and then have to take even more drugs so that you sort of kind of sleep all night, even though you eventually get out of bed at 5:30 AM because you just can’t stand it anymore and one of your evil geriatric cats insists on standing on your face and howling in the hopes you will have completely lost your entire mind and will feed her.

That cat, by the way, is shit out of luck.

So I got a lot done today despite my best intentions, because there is really no way to avoid accomplishing things when you get out of bed at 5:30.

So, this morning I got up, got ready for my doctor appointment, took my meds and had a coke. Then I realized that I had taken my night time meds, a potent cocktail of psych meds and stuff that makes me sleepy, instead of my morning meds, which do not so much with the sleepy.

This is the first time that I have ever done that.

Because, really, the two doses are nothing alike. The morning dose is, like, five pills while the night dose is a fucking fistful of drugs. And so I felt stupid because I had actually done something stupid.

So I went to the drs, stopping at UPS and the grocery store because the milk is not going to buy itself, damnit, and then came home, where I fell down on the couch and promptly fell asleep.

I woke up two hours later, ate three slices of cheese, then fell asleep on the couch again.

I have been repeating this pattern, except for the cheese, all fucking day. God only knows if I will be able to sleep tonight. If I can’t, Tim will be getting an assload of late night texts, for serious.

Made the fucking cats happy, anyway. They like me best when I don’t move around.

So today I get to have my boobs squeezed between a variety of metal plates while some tech takes radiation pictures that may or with my luck, may not make me sterile.

Being 42 is awesome.

Actually, being 42 IS awesome. I realized yesterday that I am having way more fun these days than I did in my twenties, and that’s even taking into consideration the fact that I barely remember my 20′s on account of the massive quantities of booze, pills and other illegal and yet highly available substances I ingested.

I spent most of my life in the grip of anxiety and the panoply of mental illnesses I am afflicted with. I didn’t have many friends, or much of a typical childhood and my teen years, what I remember of them, are mostly me wracked with social anxiety. And drugs, lots of drugs.

We also moved A LOT, which kind of made everything else much more challenging.

These days, most of that is under control. Not gone, because I’m not sure that such an integral part of me can ever be gone, but I manage that shit. I learned, over time, that while fear ran my life, I was not going to be happy or have fun.

Fuck that shit.

So now, no matter how I feel, I take my meds. I go to meetings. I make plans with people and most of those people become friends.

Even when I am having a bad day, a day when I feel worthless or hopeless, I can recognize that it’s just a feeling. Feelings aren’t facts, and they will pass if I just keep doing the things I need to do.

That, my friends, is a fucking miracle. And is directly responsible for the really great life I now have.

Ok, enough if this feelings stuff. So over it, dudes. Let’s talk about something else. Without feelings.

Cat Safety Propaganda

Courtesy of Hyperbole And A Half, and if you haven’t already, you should probably bookmark that blog. No, for serious, she practically makes me hyperventilate with every post.