Tuesday, November 25, 2008


I'm getting a bit jealous of Knut.

Sid is constantly checking on her, making sure she's okay, and giving her attention. Normally, I'd think it was cute, but for some reason, it's just really, really, aggravating me. Perhaps my memory is skewed, but I don't recall him treating me like that, ever. Not even after MY EPIC FAIL. Matter of fact, if I recall correctly, in the weeks after the failage, he hardly said anything to me at all.

I don't know if this is my malfunction or his. But either way, it really pisses me off.

And then I start thinking, if I were pregnant, would he be so loving and attentive to me then? and would he hover over our baby like that? and it breaks my fucking heart. Lately, I've been feeling like I was over the worst of it, and that I had finally made some semblance of peace with all that bs. It didn't really hurt to look at babies, I didn't want to cry when I saw pregnant women. And it's shit like this that makes me realize that hey, you know, it's not that fucking simple. Bitch, you thought you were through the worst? Now you're jealous and resentful of your fucking CAT, and doesn't that just make you feel like a piece of shit all over again?

Monday, November 24, 2008

omg wtf knuty-q

Knut knows we feel bad about her pirate eye (and the conehead), so she's milking it for all it's worth. Usually, if she wants attention, she'll come to you...but that rarely happens. Lately, I can't sit down without having to guard my lap, because she'll come slinking over bonking her conehead on everything, and want to sit on me. Last night, she tried to act all pitiful and mooch Sid's ice cream. I find it hilarious yet maddening. This morning while finishing up my Yoga Burn dvd, lying down and doing the ending relaxation bits, she climbed right up on my stomach and started poking around. On my bladder. Which was very, very full.

Any other time, I wouldn't mind lavishing attention on Knut. But right now, I'm constantly weeing. I'm on the run up to that wonderful time of the month, and the bloat is going away, which means OMG, STAY NEAR THE POTTY ROOM. And my boobs are fucking sore as hell, and she wants to root around at my chest and sit on my bladder? Hell to the no, Knottyhead.

It's just the weirdest thing, having a siamese that constantly wants to cuddle. Dare I say, it's wearing on the nerves, too?

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

my cat is a pirate

Knut has always had a wonky right eye: when she was a kitten, she had some sort of infection that left it looking...kind of gross. Her cornea is scarred to high heaven, and her sight is very likely smeary and clouded on that side. But it never seemed to bother her, and it never bothered me. She is my one-eyed Knut: my furry, bad-tempered pirate baby.

Last week, as best I can tell, she scratched that eye somehow. Maybe she was fighting with one of our other cats, maybe she just did the kitty equivalent of poking herself in the eye. I don't know. But she had a scratch on her eye, and it didn't seem to bother her. One of my guinea pigs had had the same thing happen once, and there was nothing we could do about it except make sure it didn't get worse. Well, the guinea pig's eye healed. Knuty's did not.

I took her to the vet yesterday (shout out to the awesome staff at Ahoskie Animal Clinic!), thinking that I would be getting some eyedrops for her or something. Well, it turns out that Knut's scratch ulcerated, and she has lost at least half of the layers of her cornea in that spot. The pressure inside her eye could cause the remaining layers to rupture. Which, even to the layman, sounds every bit as bad as it really is.

The vet said that her best chance of keeping that eye would be to use her third eyelid as a sort of eyepatch: pull it up, stitch it there, and give the cornea some time to try and heal. There's a good chance that this will work, and she'll be fine. But if for some reason it doesn't, she will have to have that eye removed.

Ho-ly shit.

I was dead calm as the vet was telling me all this: composed as I said goodbye to Knut and they took her back to prep for surgery. It was only when I got to the lobby to fill out the consent forms that it really hit me, and then I started to cry. Knut has never spent a night away from Sammy, never spent a night away from people who loved her. And now she's going to be doped up, stitched up, and wake up surrounded by strangers? It broke my heart.

Sid has been kind of a mess. He's never had to deal with something like this: hell, neither have I, but if you've had as many pets as I've had (and buried as many as I have), you learn to just roll with the punches when it comes to the furrybutts. An injury is not.so.bad. It definitely could have been a lot worse.

Right now I'm trying to find the funny in this situation, and the only thing I can come up with is that now my Knut really is a pirate: an awesome hardcore pirate, because her eyepatch is made with her own living flesh. Doesn't get much more hardcore than that, does it?

Monday, November 10, 2008

a new low

This month is NaBloPoMo, and I was going to participate. That shit lasted about zero seconds. I haven't had the energy, or anything to blog about. I sat around in my pajamas for a week, and bathed only because it warmed me up: what the hell does someone like that have to say, anyway, that warrants a blog post every day for a month? The winter blahs have hit me hard.

I feel like total fucking shit. Right now, my world is pretty colorless. The food I normally like is just...gobs of goo. It doesn't have any taste at all. Yesterday I ate chocolate chip cookies, and it was just like sawdust. Even spaghetti with cheese, the food of the gods, has been reduced to nothing but it's texture. And to be honest, it's texture is pretty gross.

Everything feels so pointless, petty and motherfucking futile. Why should I get out of bed? Why should I eat? Why should I take my vitamin, or my thyroid pills? Why should I get dressed, or do yoga, or ride my bike? Why should I even fucking bother?

Is this what depression feels like? Seasonal Affective Disorder? It's not as crushing as last year. But then again, last year, food was something I still took pleasure in, so I don't know where that leaves me.

The part of me that lives to kick my own ass is insisting I'm being stupid. That I'm little better than a sulking child. That I need to snap the fuck out of it. Because you know, it's supposed to be that easy.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

(not so) well played, America

Tuesday night, I passed out early. I wasn't up to see the election results. Sid was. He woke me up and asked, "Guess who's President?" and I said "John McCain". Looks like I was wrong.

Well played, America. It's nice to be pleasantly surprised for once, so thank you for finally getting your head out of your ass. I was beginning to suspect that you never would.

The anti-choice initiatives that were put on the ballots in many states were shot down. Again, well played, America. Wimminz is people. Fertilized eggies is not. Good call. Pats on the back all round.

But, America, what the fuck were you thinking when you voted for every bit of gay-discriminating bullshit that was put on the ballot? Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking? Can you give me one good reason, one solid, irrefutable reason why gay couples cannot marry or adopt children? One that doesn't come from the bible? Because if you can't, if your whole argument boils down to "the bible says gays are icky", that's unconstitutional, innit? That blows the bit about the separation of church and state right out the fucking window, doesn't it?

I do think we're moving the right direction, though. Things like this are horribly discouraging, and sometimes it's hard to hang onto hope. But change happens slowly. Even 50 years ago, no one would have imagined that a man of African-American descent would win the presidental election. 50 years ago, gays outing themselves to their families would not expect love and acceptance, or even just tolerance. We have come a long way in that respect. But we still have such a long way to go.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

bad luck is still luck

My period, my reliable period, never showed on Halloween like it was supposed to. The last time my periods went funny like this, it was because my thyroid was fucked. Not so this time, so omg, what could it be? Could I really and seriously finally be pregnant? Piss test said no. I waited.

Saturday, the first of November, still no period. I feel just like it's going to start, but where is it? Could I really and seriously finally, even though the piss test said no be pregnant? I dared to hope.

Sunday, today. Third day of the wait. I wake up at the asscrack of dawn with a mess to clean. It seems I am really and seriously not pregnant. It seems no-luck fucks like me don't ever get a break.

I'm angry. At myself, for actually getting my hopes up, and at the world - at good old Mother Nature - for piling one more shitty thing on my shoulders. I'm angry at the women who get oopspregnant, at the women who get pregnant their first try. I'm angry at the crackheads who have babies, when I can't even have one when I stop drinking my morning cup of coffee and the occasional glass of wine.

I guess it goes without saying that I'm hurt, too, for all the same reasons. What makes me so different? Some would say that it's just not god's plan for me. I would say that god can go fuck his fucking self, because his plan for me is SHIT (mmmm, sacrilegious).

What could be the second reason? Anyone? ANYONE? Bueller? Bueller?

There is no reason. I just have terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad luck. And there is nothing I can do about it, except wait. Wait, for three years, five years, whatever, until Sid decides to send me back on this rollercoaster for the THIRD FUCKING TIME. I don't want to do it again. I don't want to give up and wait. But I don't have much of a choice. And I'm so fucking mad at him for it.

I think that's the worst part of it.