It’s a tumor, surgery tomorrow. Prayers will be appreciated
counting downSpringMarch 20th, 2016Spring has sprung!
It’s a tumor, surgery tomorrow. Prayers will be appreciated
Max isn’t feeling well. Yesterday morning he wouldn’t eat. He turned his head away from food, and that’s not normal. Nothing tempted him. He went out to pee and just wanted to lay in the leaves. That’s not normal, either. He seemed weak in his rear and just so tired. I finally got him to eat some food, I had some cheese and that peaked his interest, so then I gave him some of his food and he gobbled it down.
I spent last night on the sofa, and in the recliner, so I could make sure he was breathing. He was so weak and tired all day and all evening, I’ve been scared this is really bad.
This morning I gave him some food, which he gobbled again. So I gave him a little more, and he gulped that down too. I gave him his pain pill and his anti-inflammatory and then we both took a nap. When we woke up, I gave him a little more food and water, he drank a lot, but he still hasn’t peed today! This is gonna be a river when he finally goes!
We’re headed to the vet at 5:15. We decided not to get him up till it was time to go, but about 1/2 hour ago, he got up by himself and walked into the family room. I guess he wanted to watch TV. 🙂 So I’m still really scared but thinking maybe it won’t be as bad as I thought.
I have no appetite at all. I keep telling myself to eat, but nothing tempts me. I had a stick of cheese, shared that with Max. Maybe when we get back from the vet, I’ll feel like eating something. Or not. He owns my heart and I’m scared it’s about to shatter into a million pieces and even my Bear won’t be able to put them back together this time.
I hate taxes. I hate doing our taxes, I hate doing taxes for other people. I get stuck doing them every year because, hey, “you teach accounting, so you can do this!” Yeah, I CAN do it, but that doesn’t mean I LIKE doing it.
And what I really hate is that people who are content to stay in pissant jobs and make next to no money but managed to do the most difficult thing in the word (heavy sarcasm there) and pop out a couple of kids, get handed a gift by the government every freakin year.
I don’t have kids. I didn’t have kids because I knew I couldn’t take care of them. I had barely enough money most of the time to take care of myself. I never thought someone else should take on my responsibility, so I made sure I didn’t have kids. This is not a difficult concept. Apparently, however, it IS difficult for some to grasp that by rewarding bad or thoughtless behavior, you encourage it. Giving people who have managed to screw up their lives a gift every year is not a gift at all.
Should we end this entitlement? Well, that would hurt a whole lot of kids, wouldn’t it? How about this? How about we give a monthly stipend so that tax time windfall doesn’t go to buy a big screen tv or the latest smart phone, but instead is used to buy food and clothing, and pay the bills for the next year? Wouldn’t THAT make more sense?
I hate Hawkeye Pierce. I hate his self-righteous, annoying pronouncements. I hate his laugh. I hate everything about him. I hate BJ Honeycutt, too. I wish he’d take his crying ass back to his stupid wife and kid and shut the hell up. I hate Radar O’Reilly. I hate Father Mulcahey. I hate Klinger, and I hate Sherman Potter. I especially hate Margaret Hoolihan and Frank Fucking Burns.
I really hate that MASH is on every flippin weekend, all day and all freakin night. Seriously – it was a good show but can we move on? There’s a lot of TV out there, a lot of programs that were just as good. What is the fascination with this one? Why is it on every weekend, all freakin weekend?
Okay, I know, we don’t have to watch it all day. Oh, really? Tell that to my MASH addicted husband!
why do you torment me so?
Rib jabs – a stab of pain, just a moment, sudden, quick, gone, but enough to take my breath for a second. I had almost forgotten about you. I’m never stupid enough to think I’m cured, but sometimes, for a few blissful months, you go to sleep. Until the full moon, and the cold, and the damp weather, poke the sleeping monster and you wake. You don’t like to be awake, it seems – and my ribs pay the price.
If I could wish you away, I would. I should be thankful for the days when you don’t rear your ugly head. It;s hard to be thankful when you’re hurting. It’s hard to relax the muscles that are tensed, ready for the next jab of pain. I know this too shall pass. It always does – if only it didn’t hurt so much in the moment.
It started in November. I asked the kids what they wanted for Christmas and was told,
“just give us money.” “No gifts?” I asked. “No, just money.” “A gift card?” “NO, just MONEY!”
It made me sad. Then it made me mad.
I’m not Christian, but I love Christmas. I love the joy of the season, the unselfishness, the process of choosing a gift for someone, something that says you love that person, something they’ll cherish, look at and remember you, and remember that you took the time to choose it just for them. I admit to doing a last minute “holy shit, I gotta get a gift for SoAndSo” thing, but even that shows that you’re at least thinking about the person.
I felt like an ATM. I felt used. I lost any small amount of Christmas spirit I had managed to gather, watched it sink into the well of darkness that’s always waiting for me.
We always get a tree. I decorate the house. I buy gifts and bake cookies that we don’t eat, and make candy to give away, and generally just fill the house with love and joy and peace. This year, I couldn’t manage it.
I told the Bear, finally. He said that it was easier this way, that we could just hand them money and be done. ATM. I’m not a fucking ATM.
I gave in. But I saw his face when I said I didn’t want a tree.
And so we got a tree. And I found some joy. I got gifts for him, and from him. The kids got their cash. ATM. May they have joy of it, may they someday realize that there’s more than getting, there’s also joy in giving. Somehow I don’t think they ever will.
I’ve spent the last two hours trying to do one freaking thing in my online class and the internet connection is so incredibly slow that it’s still not done.
It’s also defaulting to something that will not work, because it was for last semester and it won’t let me change it.
I hate computers some days and today is one of those days.
A couple of years ago, I was accused of being a bully. The person who made the accusation did not confront me, or talk to me, or contact me. She cut off all contact and blocked me from any means of defending myself from the accusation – which was totally untrue – aside from going to every friend we had in common and trying to explain what was really happening.
I was left wounded and scarred – and I still bear those scars.
I’ve been thinking about this episode in my life a lot lately. I’ve been accused of many things in my lifetime – I’m not a kid and you don’t get to my age without pissing off a few people along the way. This was the first time I felt helpless. I don’t start fights, never have, I’m the one who finishes them. This feeling of not being able to fight back was something that I never want to experience again.
Why is this on my mind lately? Watching famous men being taken down by accusations – while some of them are not people I like or admire and I admit to a touch of glee at their tumbling from their pedestals , I find myself comparing what’s happening to them to what happened to me. They’re given no chance to defend themselves, immediately we’re told that women don’t lie. (Here’s a dirty little secret. Women lie. I know, I am one. I would never lie about being sexually assaulted, but some would, indeed some would)
There is guilt on both sides of the political aisle. It makes me sick, it makes me fear for my country. It is not right to ruin someone’s life to further an agenda. It’s just not right.
I can’t seem to do a bloody thing right today. It’s probably just due to exhaustion – I was up half the night with Max, who has developed a touch of arthritis in his hips and was in a bit of pain, enough to make him whimper every few minutes. He never whimpers, so it scared me. And off to the vet we went today, to find that indeed, it’s arthritis and he needs some meds to help with that now. My old guy, weren’t you a playful puppy, nipping at my hands, just a few weeks ago? We’ve grown old together, you and me, and it hurts to see the signs in you far more than the signs in me.
I went for my walk. I started laundry and tried to do some school work. And when I didn’t want to decide what we want for dinner, I got the look and the attitude. Why must it always be my decision? YOU have to eat too, dammit!
Laundry needed switched and I wasn’t in the room. Comments on posts on facebook were met with responses that seemed to imply I was an idiot for making them.
And then the laptop shut down while I was playing a game I’ve played hundreds of times – overheated for some unknown reason.
I sincerely hope that Max sleeps tonight, there will be pain meds to help him with that, and that tomorrow is a better day.
or ice cream
I’m exhausted and I didn’t do much of anything today
I suppose that walking 5.3 miles was something
In the heat
But other than that, nothing really
I think ice cream will help