Kif, I have made a gif:
Inform the men.
Kif, I have made a gif:
Inform the men.
Still trying to stay positive. Last couple of days were really rough, but I’m still here so I guess that’s a win.
Today I donated money to the Greater Vancouver Food Bank in the name of my endless angst. I am grateful that I still have the means to do that, as I enjoy being able to help people without having to actually talk to them.
Want to know something funny? The entire reason I am so freaked out about not being able to find a job is that once, 16 years ago, I couldn’t find a job after a round of layoffs. It took 9 months for me to find any kind of work whatsoever, and it was a soul-crushingly horrible job that I still have nightmares about. I’m terrified of that happening again, even though I have no real reason to be.
No, YOU’RE irrational.
This happened yesterday, but the happy carried over:
She looks scared, but only because Ed was making squealing noises at her. She crawled into my sweater herself and turned around to snuggle. She is the cutest.
I’ve spent my entire summer worrying myself sick and unable to enjoy most things. Today is October 1st, and that stops now. I will attempt to post at least one good thing that I am happy, no matter how small, for each day in October.
So, with that in mind: today I found an online, Canadian source for the spicy gummy hearts that I loved from Sugarfina (which were discontinued). I also found a whole bunch of other awesome gummy flavours (spicy. chai.), so I placed a huge order for exciting yummy goodness.
Gummy party at Halfwack! Who’s in?
September, you done me dirty.
It’s usually my favourite month of the year. There’s a lot to look forward to: the end of summer, the delicious start of fall, new iPhones, international travel, anniversary smooshes, peanut butter pumpkins, and skeletons getting all festive to ring the start of the spooky season.
September 2018, however, has been thoroughly lousy. I can’t wait for tomorrow to get here, to bring the promise of a fresh start shaped like October. I’m just so .. worn down. I’m having near-daily anxiety attacks because I don’t have a new job lined up, I’m still petulant about my vacation being cut short, I had to get my insides swabbed and was told I need a mammogram, Ed is super sick, I’m literally trapped in my house because jerks are moving in and have been blocking my entire garage door for almost 7 hours, and I’m getting a cold. I can feel it in my throat and sinuses. This all comes after finally vocalizing to Ed on Friday night how unhappy I was because of cabin fever and neverending stress, and hoping we could do something fun to take my mind off of government cheese and EI cheques. He got really sick almost during that conversation, so we couldn’t really do anything (fun or otherwise) all weekend. None of this even touches upon the news, which is a whole other horror story. I just want a break. From anger and disappointment and rejection and my unending feelings of worthlessness.
So, no pressure October, but I’m hoping you’ve got some good things in store for me and some maybe peanut butter pumpkins, because that shit is delicious.
We came home from our trip a week early, because:
Basically, something was wrong with Hobbz (oldest kitty and Ed’s one true love). In the weeks before we left, he had started peeing on the floor in the downstairs bathroom. We’d catch him in the act, he’d stop for a few days, then start up again. Nothing else seemed wrong – he would just very deliberately pee on the floor, then leave like nothing happened. He hadn’t done it in the few days before our trip, so we just hoped he was being a prima donna about the state of his litterbox.
Unfortunately, the floor peeing got a lot worse. Our neighbour and cat sitter both reported in that he was a veritable fountain of pee; hosing down the bathroom at all hours of the day and night. He was also being unusually skittish, wouldn’t let anyone touch him, and was looking pretty rough. All of these are highly unusual, but when pee started to appear outside the downstairs bathroom, we knew something was seriously wrong. We asked our cat sitter to please take him to the vet, which went about as well as expected: he fear-peed all over everything to the point where he had no more pee for the vet to take. Blood was drawn, then they were sent home so Hobbz could be put in isolation in an attempt to capture some pee for testing (didn’t work – puppy pads are REALLY ABSORBANT).
Meanwhile, Ed and I are in Lille and feeling like horrible cat parents and terrible people all around. We discussed it briefly, and made the decision that we would cut our trip short and fly home as soon as possible. We were pretty much in the middle of nowhere, which complicated matters – but I searched through every possible combination of cities, trains, and airports and managed to come up with a return trip home that didn’t cost $2500 each, leaving on Saturday. It was Thursday at this point, so we left Lille and headed to Brussels as originally planned. We’d get a day and a half in Belgium (better than nothing), then leave from Brussels early Saturday morning to take a train to London and fly from Gatwick at noon.
Brussels was truly lovely, but both Ed and I were really distracted with worry about Hobbz so we didn’t get to see nearly as much of the city as we normally would. We made the best of a bad situation with many beers (for Ed), statues of small children peeing, crazy waffle concoctions, and huge epic castley things. I ate a weird taco. Pay toilets are both awful and great. Tourists are fucking rabid about Manneken Pis, which is surprisingly tiny. A great gay store named Boris Boy reminded me of my long-standing grudge against women’s sex toys and roused my outrage all over again. I drank the Diet Coke I smuggled into the country smugly. Angst aside, we had a lot of fun.
I was struggling, though. There’s a 9-hour difference between Brussels and Vancouver, and our cat sitter would arrive around 3pm each day so I’d be awake well after midnight, waiting for updates and passing along information for the vet. We had to be at the train station by 7am on Saturday for our train, so I was up at 5:30 to shower and finish packing and make sure everything was ready to go. Worry for Hobbz, stress about being so far from home, lack of sleep, angst over cutting our vacation short, and wracking internal sobs about having to return to the reality of my work situation a full week earlier than intended has taken a huge toll on me – I am not myself, something Ed has repeatedly noted over the last few weeks.
Still, we made it home. Our plane landed on time, all our luggage arrived, and by 4:30 we were pulling into our garage, desperate to see our cats.
All of whom were totally fine (and beyond ecstatic that we were home).
The vet thinks Hobbz has a slight kidney or bladder infection, or possibly a stone. Most (but not all) of the peeing has stopped, leading me to suspect he was being a complete fucking drama queen because Ed wasn’t home. We had to collect a urine sample from the floor to take to the vet, but that’s happening today and we’ll get a course of treatment for Hobbz .. who, incidentally, perked up a thousandfold the instant he saw Ed.
I am trying very hard to be pragmatic about our melodramatic diva of a cat, but there’s a liiiiiittle bit of resentment there. I’ve STILL never been to Amsterdam, damnit.
I know we did the right thing, and Hobbz isn’t out of the woods yet. Still, I can’t help but feel cheated out of what was supposed to be a complete distraction from the last few months – it kinda feels like I can’t catch a break. I wasn’t supposed to return to work until the 17th, but since we’re home and I don’t get paid time off, there’s no reason for me not to work the week. We’ll also need the money to cover the extra train tickets and flights home, because even though we had trip insurance, I don’t think it covers pet illness or emotional manipulation via floor urine. I haven’t been able to submit the claim yet, but I’m not hopeful. And I feel just weird overall – I’m glad to be home, but at the same time this is the last place I want to be.
I’m trying not to be all fatalist about this maybe being the last vacation we’ll ever take because once I lose my job we won’t be able to afford stuff like this (not to mention this trip was booked with proceeds from the sale of Sparta), but I am REALLY GOOD at being fatalist.
I’M STILL ALIVE
Funny story: I haven’t written in a long time because I had nothing good to say – my life is a never-ending series of whines, rage tears, and vaguebooking. I didn’t want to make a triumphant return to my poor neglected blog only to complain about how awful my ridiculously priviledged life is, so I kept my head down and cried my sad tears and posted dumb little Facebook updates about my unhappiness and then guess what.
I sort of exploded from the stress, and desperately needed an outlet that wasn’t poor Ed talking me off the ledge. Oh, if only I had a safe outlet in which I could vent about my FEELINGS. If only there was a friendly, non-judgemental place where I could air my dirty laundry and extreme dissatisfaction at my lot in life and also throw in the occasional random reference to movies from the 90s. OH IF ONLY.
I never claimed to be as smart as I tell the internet I am
So, here we are. Strap in, everyone. I’m going to cleanse my soul the only way I know how: dumping it out onto the internet for the seagulls to pick through and poop on.