i ought to go to bed

This is some dreck that’s been sitting in my drafts folder since last October. Not really sure why. Maybe just so sober me could proofread and edit for drunk me?

(pics & snarky comments added later.)

"In sleep, you are safe from the revolting mechanics of living and being a prey to outrageous fortune." Taylor Caldwell

 

If it’s night, I ought to go to bed. If it’s daytime, I am in bed. and probably ought to get the fuck up. ain’t it funny?

you know you wanna. me too.

I  bought new mascara which totally looks like a pocket rocket. gives me idears.

ancient chinese wisdom, meaning........bitch

Pre-Existing Condition – Can’t Wait for Health Care Reform

I feel very bitch/babble/rant tonight. Awake, as always. Ok, my spacebar isn’t cooperating. That just pisses me off. Lets start there…

just something to make it until tomorrow again

no

I’m so not good right now. It’s nearly 6 am. I’m still up. Getting kinda goofy now, but not really sleepy. haven’t been sleeping much for a week or so now. yes, I have pills that’ll knock me out. but all day I feel so tired, so depressed, so nothing…  then at night, I have energy, I want to do things, I cleaned the kitchen and made dinner and did some laundry. I cleaned some.  I almost organized all the movies. thought about adding books to my database. I’d like to have lists, on my computer y’know, of all my books, and movies. I always think I have stuff, like, “Oh, I have that movie” or “I don’t have that book yet, I’ll buy it.”  which is how I end up with 3 copies of Needful Things. which isn’t one of my faves.

So lets try to get it all out, right? nobody is reading this, I’m not bothering anyone. I’m all twitchy because I don’t want to wake anyone up, making noise. my cats have fleas. the little one was swarmed when I got him, and he’s being treated. Sprayed with Adam’s thoroughly and often. We see the fleas dropping off him afterwards. I was getting snuggles from Big Love earlier and saw several fleas in his fur. He doesn’t seem to mind them much, which is why I didn’t know he had them. Ferg has some skin thing going on, so he’s always scratching. I keep telling myself I’m going to start giving him regular baths with head & shoulders, see if it helps. But we’ve got to get rid of the damn fleas. I think maybe I’m just about fucking over this climate. You really don’t appreciate something until it’s gone. I always complained that I hated the desert, wanted to live somewhere green and alive. well, there’s lots of alive. and a lot of it is icky and crawly and evil. roaches in the kitchen, fleas on the cats, and I can’t walk down the street without being paranoid that a tick is going to paratroop down onto me and get frisky. I get rather twitchy just thinking about it. I don’t like bugs. admitting, even to myself, that my kitchen has roaches just kills me. I never say their name. I just say there’s ‘bugs’ in the kitchen. it makes me feel like such trash, ghetto disgusting things. Cat messes and kid messes I can deal with. just take away the insects.

in case you can’t tell, the reason I’m so upset about the bugs is because I can’t do anything about them. I do try to kill the ‘bugs’ in the kitchen, to keep it clean, put the traps and power around, all that jazz. but it does rather seem like they are impossible to get rid of. I fucking hate them. and I feel guilty about the cats. I should be able to take care of them and provide for them properly. but I can’t afford to frontline them all. I’m mad at myself.

I’m sorta kinda looking for work. sent out my resume, but I’m awful at cover letters. and I don’t customize my resume for each job. it’s so stressful, I want it to be perfect, the awesome resume and cover letter, different and unique but reassuring and confidence-inspiring. and I know they’re not, and I don’t know how to make them be. I google it every time, how to write an awesome resume & letter, it just all seems so cliche and manipulative. and I don’t really want to go back to work. I’ve gotten in a rut, lounge around, watch TV, munching & grazing. I bitch & moan every time I have to wear a bra and any pants other than pajamas. seriously, all my laundry is pajamas. I hated getting up early and always being late anyway, frustrations and stresses of work, the constant battle against the clock vs. the paycheck. like, yes I would love to leave early on fridays. but I’m also fond of having electricity and a phone. it just fucking blows. and I know that I could do things from home, could probably do fairly well at it. editing, proofreading, maybe even writing. I just don’t know where to go, how not to get scammed. I need to do something. the holidays are coming up and we just keep getting further behind.

a collections agent actually got ahold of me last week. someone switched to a new collections company, so the number was new, and I answered it. I talked to the woman honestly, said, yes I know I owe money. but being unemployed means I don’t have the means to do a damn thing about it. and she said something about me needing to be aware of the consequences. um, yeah. thanks. y’know, I’m already going to the free crazy clinic for my prozac and ambien. they don’t generally prescribe the heavy stuff. if I can’t have some valium, I need everyone to stay off my back.

boy 2 is giving me stress. trouble at school, trouble at scouts. lying and acting out, I know he’s snowing this counselor just like he did the last one. of course if he’s getting one-on-one attention he’s great. that’s what he wants out of life. but the rest of the time, when someone isn’t being paid (once again, at the guv’ment welfare clinic) to listen to him, he still wants at least that much attention. and he will manufacture anything and everything to get it. hence the problems. there is no attention to be gained by quietly learning or doing homework. and I feel so shitty every time I shoo him away or tell him to wait a minute when he starts talking. but I know he knows when I’m trying to do something, or pay attention to something else, or trying to defuse a bomb, and that’s when he is the most insistent that he needs to ask me if ferrets could live on the moon and he wants a roller coaster for christmas. valium? pls? ativan. lithium. thorazine? vodka. but that occasionally causes projectile vomiting of a truly impressive distance. and volume. which generates a lot of cleaning for me, hence the downside. and I don’t want my kids on the montel williams show talking about mom the drunk. I mean, it’s true, I just don’t want it to be obvious.

a couple of times now I have taken the ambien and stayed up on purpose. it’s rather groovy feeling, floaty-like. but I’m still feeling productive, want to get stuff done. get the crock pot going, including actual potatoes that I peeled and chopped me-self. send out a resume or two and make a couple of phone calls. actually, what I really really want is to go buy the fourth season of Bones. I think it’s getting sick. I NEED to look at all the bills, see what someone is about to shut off and pay it. pay the rest of the rent. hey, guess what we’re not gonna have on Dec. 1st! RENT MONEY! they’ve been very nice thus far, but they are hinting that they have other properties, like apartments, that we might be able to better afford. jesus humping christ on a silver crutch, I really hate apartments. I hate shit jobs, call centers, cashiers, ‘customer service associates.’ drones. sheep. shit on the bottom of one’s shoe. I feel like I’m better than that, worth more than that. but how do I convince a total stranger of that within a minute? getting a job isn’t exactly cake and pie right now. and looking for him too. I thought I was lazy and unmotivated. wow. maybe that’s one reason I let him stick around. makes me feel less lazy and awful. but at the same time, depressing and dragging my ass down with him. it’s the sort of thing I excell at. finding a guy who can ruin my life in as many ways as possible in the shortest amount of time, and hanging on to him like my life depended on it, rather than being rational and moving onward and upward. well, down with the ship then, captain! how else?

so why don’t I want to sleep? why have I been up all night? avoiding the pills that’ll knock me out for a while. time is going by too quickly. I keep telling myself I’m going to do things, make it better, suck it up, be an adult and fix it. and then I sleep all day and think about how shitty it all is and how it’s never going to get better.

depressed, adopt another cat, eat some chocolate, look at lolcats.

and another day is gone, and another day is gone.

I don’t want to get dressed and go to scouts,

I don’t want to get dressed and go to the grocery store,

I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to think about anything.

I’ll think about it tomorrow.

tomorrow is another day, can’t think about it today,

can’t do anything about it today,

they’re probably out to lunch or they’re closed by now

or I can’t do it right now, I need to find a paper first.

something anything a pill a drink a funny

to make it all stop.

for another day.

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Chiquita the Beautiful

So.

I had written about ten pages already. And some shit happened and it’s gone. And I needed it to be there. And I can’t do it again. I don’t have that much vodka.

Summary…..

My dearest love, my gato, neko, kitty cat, Chiquita the Beautiful, aka Chucky aka Tuck-tuck, is gone. I held her and talked to her and kissed her as the euthanasia kicked in. Just today. And I just ain’t good with it.

I had written out most of the whole story. And it got erased, gone bye-bye somehow. I needed to get it all out there, and I had typed it and thought I wouldn’t have to do it again. But now I do, because it needs to be out there.

She was the most wonderful spoiled little bitch kitty. My life was 30 times better for having had her. She was the best thing I ever could have gotten out of a marriage/divorce. Especially from ‘him.’

Oh Tuck, I love you so much. I am so sorry that you ever had to be in pain. I hope I did the right thing for you. I love you, I love you, I love you.