pointless means why bother. so i didn't...

...although borrowed pdoc had prescribed Leponex, I figured that if she thinks the meds are pointless anyway, there isn't much reason to add another one that is a known dog. So haven't even filled the script. Have stayed on meds as they were, except for going up to 20mg Eldepryl today, which pdoc might or might not be pissed off with when I see him again. I'm betting that he'd up it then, so I'm just pre-empting him by 6 days. Counting the hours till I see him - I need to know whether he also thinks I'm a total loser taking meds for nothing, although not quite sure how to ask that question....

Other than that, not much. Trainer dude came for walks yesterday and today, both of which were pure torture. Hot poker down left thigh muscle both days, and today the muscles that he said are underdeveloped in my lower back felt as if I'd walked the whole distance on them. God, I am such a total wuss.

Little parrot back to the vet for a splint change. Sick mynah dead this morning. Feed screaming birds at regular intervals. Try - and fail - to discover how temporary domestic worker has managed to stuff up the washing machine the only time she has used it. Yawn all day and then wake up completely at 20h00.

Not only a wuss, but just so dynamic and interesting as well....

just what i needed to be told

so borrowed pdoc today tells me that she doesn't see any reason why things will ever improve. That meds are unlikely to ever work, given the shopping list that I've tried (and the high doses of most) over the past three years. Which, BTW, doesn't even go into all the ones before that. She reckons that I should give up rehab work and go back to IT full time, and work from the office every day.

Just the positive spin I really need. Ok, so she's only seen me three times, plus a couple of quickies in the hospital, but still.... having a pdoc tell me that the meds won't work doesn't help with motivating myself to keep trying. Although she did add Leponex - seeing as an A/P is the about the only category missing at the moment. The sedation from the increase in Remeron and Neurontin wore off on Saturday, so I've been back to waking up every hour or so. Seem to remember that last time the Leponex made me sleep at night. And in the morning. And the afternoon.

Quitting rehab? Might help, not having dying creatures all the time. But only if I knew that someone else was caring for the mynahs and ferals. And along with the bad, rehab gives me just about the only good bits. IT full time - yeah well, I've already dropped out twice because I was overloading on stress, and I can't see that going back would help at all. And at the moment, the thought of being in an office every day is just about inconceivable. I can't even handle erratic shifts at the centre without feeling overwhelmed by the people contact. Social events have me running for home after two or three hours.

I know being insular and isolating myself doesn't help, but I can't see myself doing the opposite. Being in a relationship would help too, but honestly, no-one would want one with me. So if all the things that someone who is an expert thinks would be good fill me with fear, if all the things I think might help are unlikely, if the qualified opinion is that the meds are pointless..... if she and I agree only on one thing; that there isn't anything to look forward to....then ending things now is the only logical answer, isn't it.

Guess I keep my head below the firing line this week if I can. Pdoc is back at work next thurs - and even if it is dumb, I don't think I would do it without saying adios to him. Subtly.

one down

one to go. Got through Christmas, albeit in shit (for arriving late...parrot emergency) and unsober (blame BIL, who poured me two drinks that were both about twice as strong as anything I'd have poured myself. TG for heavy-handed BILs). Next on the list is New Year's Eve, another particular unfavourite. Am doing a rehab shift the afternoon of the 1st, which suits me, as it gives me a good reason not to go out partying. Unfortunately, SA has a penchant for fireworks on NY Eve, so will be up late with hysterical dogs anyway. And after that pdoc will be back on the 3rd, and tdoc on the 4th. And I can go back to survival as a daily activity rather than a special event. Oh yay....

happy holidays to all..

..including me. Although it's been a long time since I really enjoyed Christmas, and New Year has never been a favourite, the last couple have been extra rough. And as this MDE approaches the end of its third year, doing good/being good seem even more pointless.

2004 had been a mixed year. There were a few long, bad patches - as there had been for many years - but I'd dropped out of IT again, started at the rehab centre, been rehired as a contractor by my previous company, so it was a better year than most. The week between Christmas and New Year was spent paddling down the Orange River with friends. The trip ended on New Year's Eve, and although I ducked out of the huge party that everyone else went to, it was OK. Only forerunner of things to come was that I'd accidentally left my meds at base camp in the last minute reduction of luggage to absolute basics (clean undies...nope, clean tshirts...nope, you get the idea of how we had to pare down our 'small bags' to fit into a much smaller plastic bag?) so hadn't taken A/Ds for 4 days. Shouldn't have been a train-smash, but about a week later the wall hit me face-first. And I've never quite gotten myself back again. Bit of ECT, changes of meds, bit more hospital, change of pdocs (unwillingly), bit more of everything. 6 good weeks in Sept/Oct. 2006 was the year of dropping out of almost everything, 2007 of burying hope, 2008 is heading for the year of burying me. Well cremation, seeing as I'm not allowed to specify that my corpse be offered to predators.

If there is a miracle out there, I believe that pdoc will be the one to find it. That is about all I am hoping for. And yet, sometimes I still have dreams in which I am happy, am loved, have a future. Those are the days that hurt the most, as the probability of any of it drops steadily.

Tomorrow is going to be rough, unless I drink a whole lot, and with roadblocks everywhere, that might not be a sensible idea. And the start of rough is being at the centre on time for morning shift with my own motley crew of mynahs, pigeons and parrots. So - finish drink and head for sleep, albeit the Remeron/Neurontin/Ambien induced version. Can't achieve it myself, but doesn't stop me from wishing for a merry Christmas to all, especially to the two lonely blog-readers who will see the wishes - have a good one, y'all.....

same old shit, different day....

...was one of ex-BFs sayings. True enough.

Disorganised as always. Running late as always. Didn't do most of what I should have. New mynah from yesterday died on me. Blah blah blah....

The increase in Remeron and Neurontin have had one noticeable effect - sleep. Only woke up once that I know of last night, but to counteract that bonus, I slept through the alarm, slept in the bath, had a quick nap late afternoon and am only starting to feel half-awake now. Not doable if I am on call for paying job - I have to be able to respond intelligently if I am phoned at night. See how it goes; hopefully the full-on dopiness will wear off.

Only constructive activity for the day was taking 4 ducks, 9 Egyptian geese, 40 tortoises, 1 dikkop, 1 terrapin, 1 hedgehog and 2 spotted eagle owls out to our release conservancy. I get more than my share of releases because I have flexible working hours, a pickup with canopy and sufficient income to pay for my fuel - they are the bit that makes all the dying and injuries bearable. When you see a bird or animal come out of it's travel crate, look round, sense freedom and head off without a backward glance....what we do most days seems worthwhile.

And another message from DuckBuddy...Saturday afternoon, so guess hubby was playing sport again. She misses me, wishes she could go back to before last fight, etc. I miss her too. When she isn't psychotic, she will always be one of the smartest, funniest, sweetest people around. When I think of her, I see her all bright-eyed and laughing. But that image is overwritten by the way she knows exactly how to really wound, and the memories of her doing it. And I just don't want to lay myself open for that again. Even if it means I lose out on all the good days too....

PT did walkies and assessment yesterday. Down a couple of kilograms, lost centimetres in most places. Except, (bloody hell !!) my butt and my thighs, those being two of the many areas that I really don't need being any bigger. He reckons he is happy, and that the butt growth is temporary, as the muscle tightens up. Hope so. This week is going to be a bad one, with Christmas face-stuffing, no exercise, and - almost guaranteed - drinking on Christmas day as well. I know it is stupid, but at the moment I cannot conceive of a day of faking sociability and family-feeling without alcohol to smooth the prickles off of me.

Not a good week all round. Working shifts on both Christmas and the 26th, and have a full house with mynahs, pigeons and two baby parrots to hand-feed from my dentist. So going anywhere needs planning and much transporting. Probably only see PT on Mon and Fri. No tdoc. No (my) pdoc, although seeing borrowed one on Thu. Haven't finished present-buying. Haven't started present-wrapping. Domestic worker is home on long leave, so need to do dishes and laundry and dogs - her sister is filling in a bit, but is somewhat lacking compared to DW herself.

And the idea of sucking exhaust fumes is almost overwhelmingly sweet. Backup meds now number almost 500 good ones, plus whatever the current script is. If the timing was right, that's anything up to another 350 assorted. It would just be so easy to give up fighting, just so tempting....

days in the life of an idiot...

...pass at two different speeds. They endure forever, so that things I know I did yesterday seem an eternity away. And they whiz past so that every one has its own list of the things I just never got around to doing. Inherent failure just waiting to be fact.

Yesterday PT and I did the walk from his office, before going shopping for new running shoes and socks. True to his promise, I had absolutely no say in what we bought. He did ask if I had any colour preference, to which I said 'no, they're all equally ugly' and any cost limits. He gave me a strange look when I said no to that because when the cost is amortised over 3 or 4 years, a couple of hundred rand is fairly irrelevant. I think the last pair of shoes (other than flip flops) that I bought was in 2004, and I've only worn them once. So I now own a pair of weird looking NB trainers and 6 pairs of thick socks to go with them. Did today's walk in them, and they were surprising comfortable, albeit heavy. That was after he'd laced them up for me, because he has a special way of lacing them to give more ankle restraint. I felt like a schoolkid standing there while my shoes got tied for me.

And then I saw borrowed pdoc again. And cried again for most of it. Think I actually like her, even if she needles me with tough questions. Like whether the rehab work is actually a good career choice for me, with all the birds and animals that die. I wonder about that too, often. And that's before I even count the number that I kill - either directly by having to euthanase them, or indirectly by my inability to care for them adequately. I just don't see a way to not do it, though. Not only is there nothing else that I could see myself doing, but hordes of people have my direct number to call for the species that the centre doesn't treat. And if I wasn't taking them, then I would be directly responsible for all of those dying. No easy way out.

All the other questions too. Why don't I socialise more, why don't I have a relationship again. Easy answer to that one (although I didn't say it) - no-one would want one with me. Haven't really dated anyone since I was seeing ex-BF in 2004 and that was fairly casual. Tried some online dating, but it didn't really work. Having regular sex would probably be really good for me, but it just ain't gonna happen. I can't inflict myself on anyone knowing what a useless asshole I am. And anyway, the ones that I might want wouldn't ever have even looked twice at me. Not even when I was at my peak, and I'm nowhere near that at the moment.

And the whole suicidality bit as well - what level (8/10), what stops me (guilt about my family). Didn't tell her though that at the moment I am pretty much doing most things with the background thought that it doesn't matter what chances I take, because with one more reason, it would be a 10/10. Or that my meds stash is probably adequate on it's own by now. Method, means and motive; almost all the cherries in a row. I'm just too tired of this to face the prospect of another year like the last three....

Told her that I'd been going up on the Eldepryl sooner than scheduled, which she wasn't wild about but figures I'm the one who will have to explain that to pdoc. She suggested upping the Remeron (120mg) and the Neurontin (1000mg) instead - both to make me sleep more at night and for the a/d effect to maybe kick in, so will do that instead this week. What doesn't kill might cure, I guess.

only six shopping days left to christmas

and think I am likely to shatter my previous record for last-minute present-buying. Just can't face shopping centres or crowds or noise. I know that I don't achieve much most days, but somehow it takes the whole day and by the time I flee for home I am just so tired. All I want to do is get home, feed the birds and animals and collapse at my PC.

Walkies with PT this morning, an extra block both ways, and a couple of minutes less. Even though I keep stopping for a few seconds to let my legs stop quivering. I am so totally unfit. Hard to believe what I used to do - gym five times a week, at least three 5km runs, at least three games of squash.

Then again, I find it hard to believe sometimes that I ever had a life. I know what I used to do, but it seems as if it was a different person. One with some energy and ambition. One who spent time with people. One that didn't think of suicide every day. It all just feels so far away from what I am now.

I miss myself...

happy reconciliation day part 2

so in the interests of being all happy and celebratory.....I spent most of the day crying again. Over nothing. Anything. Everything.

At least I see tdoc tomorrow. Nothing she can do apart from metaphorical hand-holding, but it kind of makes me feel that I still have one honest real-life relationship. Even if it is paid for....

ho hum

ok, so what did I actually do with the entire day....

Fed birds, went to fetch a bird that had died already and instead bought a cake to take to tea at visiting-friend, read half the newspaper, tidied half of desk. Reread school magazines which were lying on desk (no, I have no idea why they were there) and cried about all my entries. Read 'Me and Marley' by John Grogan and cried about dogs and dying. Made content lists for car CD's and cried listening to most of the songs. Shelved last 3 months worth of books, a major achievement. Cried some more. Had a phone-call from pdoc's admin lady, just to say hello and ask how it's going. Cried about that too.

What I didn't do : exercise, cook, wash dishes, shave legs (PT again in the morning) or almost all the jobs I was supposed to do today. And worst of all, didn't see visiting-friend. In spite of the cake that is still sitting on my car seat. I reread mail, worked out that I could legitimately go for tea onwards instead of lunch and mailed her to confirm. Halfway there I listened to the voicemail that I'd missed as I was getting ready to leave home, and discovered that she had had to change plans and was no longer hosting tea. Bummer. So now I feel like a real bitch for not going at lunchtime.

I feel like a real bitch about most things. I wonder why I still have friends, when all I ever do is avoid seeing them, or talking to them. I don't deserve them, or my family. Don't deserve either of my jobs, because I just screw those up too most of the time. Actually, I screw up just about every part of my entire life. Even the things that I try to do right.

Loser. Total, complete, utter loser.

same again...

...sore. Sober. Stiff. And miserable as all fuck. Long day, including another shift at the rehab centre. Where I excelled at being useless and did almost nothing but managed to be exhausted by it anyway. Now sitting here too tense to go to bed, and have just rediscovered that I am supposed to go to an all-day lunch/tea/dinner thing tomorrow. Ex-volunteer at the centre, who I actually like, is back home on holiday from an extended earning-some-real-money sojourn in the UK. I want to see her. Just not...yet. I'm not ready for any of the social things that seem to be coming way too fast, and way way not prepared for the whole Christmas bit.

I love my friends and family. Just don't want to have to see any of them. I am becoming more and more asocial, and don't know how to explain to people that it's not their fault - I feel as if my entire supply of social interaction is used up by people with birds/shop assistants/street vendors/other arbitrary conversations. Nothing left over for any more people, even the ones I care about.

I am just so tired of all this. Feeling crap. Feeling guilty. Dreaming about dying accidentally so that I don't hurt people any more. Enough already...

sore, sober, and s....

...guess it takes longer than two days to be filled with the joys of exercise and not drinking.

Actually, most of why I drink is because it makes me like myself more. But having realised that it had become an every day habit, I now have to prove that I can leave it for a while. And the start of the great whale fitness program seemed like a good time to cut out the vodka calories as well. I distract myself by thinking about pdoc's face when he gets the answers the other way round for a change: alcohol no, exercise yes.

So PT came for the second walkies today. I have a huge blister on my one heel from wearing shoes, so ended up walking in flip flops. We still set a reasonable pace even though I insisted on stopping every few hundred metres to try and stretch the aches out of legs and lower back. I limited the stops to quick pauses though. PT demonstrated another aspect - he wants me to meet him to go buy shoes and socks. So, Personal Shopper as well.

Afternoon was a shift at the rehab centre, although I mainly just limped around being useless. And got my arm pretzeled into doing a shift again tomorrow. They are really desperate for volunteers, even useless ones....

might not have been the most intelligent thing...

... to unilaterally decide to increase the Eldepryl the same morning as Personal Trainer came to try and kill me. Apart from hitting a max heart rate over 200 at one stage, it didn't do any harm. Besides, would have gone up on Sat anyway - and I don't have months to wait while pdoc builds it up slowly. Extra-slowly while he is away.

PT took me for a very brisk walk, with huge amounts of it being anything between gentle upward slope and almost vertical. He chatted the whole way, and didn't even glow. I was drenched, contributed only very short sentences and developed a blister from wearing shoes and socks for the first time in ages. Apparently I now need to buy new, expensive trainers and (probably) equally expensive socks. He told me to cool down in the bath, so my muscles could disintegrate slowly and not form lactic acid crystals - never being one to turn down a bath order, I slept there for an hour, and finally started feeling almost human around 19h00.

And - why oh why did I agree - he is back tomorrow at 09h00 for another session. I know I'm not exactly a shining example of mental well-being; now I know I am completely batshit as well.

The theory is that exercise is supposed to make me less miserable. Not so sure about that....

mortification yet again...

....saw pdoc's rooms-partner for the first of the appointments that he insisted on while he's away this morning. She intimidates me anyway, because she is ethereally gorgeous and obviously intelligent too. Only contact we've had before has been when she's covered weekends during hospitalisations, and hasn't been great. And her really psychotic patient who bombarded me with sms's until I eventually asked doc to get her to lay off or I'd lay charges, which would end patients already stagnant law career in it's tracks. And hearing from staff that she hated birds.

So basically, I was only going because I had to. And then she was just so nice and so kind that I started crying in about two minutes flat and just couldn't stop for the whole appt. I am such a total loser. Strangely enough, she brought up ECT really soon, wanted to know if I'd consider it. There seems to be a whole convergence of totally separate threads...all heading towards ECT. And I'm beginning to think it's the least intrusive/most available of the non-meds alternatives.

The whole TRD-definition starts with two different AD's. Augmentation. Tricyclic. MAOI. More augmentation sometimes. All for 6 weeks without effect. Ha f-ing ha. Just with current pdoc in last 30 months, where he's pushed dosages up to sometimes 15 of the PI-max, and all for at least 6 weeks, we've tried (and I'm almost definitely forgetting some) about 11 SSRI/SNRIs, 7 TCAs, 2 MAOIs, 1 RIMA, augmented with at least 6 mood stabilisers, 4 anti-psychotics, 3 stimulants, about another 6 off-labels, whole bunch of sedatives. Pretty much nothing. Even the damn vet tranquiliser. I don't ask what the S/E profile is anymore, I don't care. Even if it might kill me, the odds are lower than me doing it myself.

At least, I will have something to say next week. Personal trainer dude and I set up a meeting. He's filled with enthusiasm and vision, wants to know if I'm really motivated and committed to becoming a whole new healthy, skinny person. Gave him the 'do I look like I am?' stare and said 'no. I have no motivation and no desire to do this at all. That's why I am willing to pay you the equivalent of many peoples full-time salary to make me do this 4 times a week whether I want to or not.' Then he asks what liquids I take in. 'Vodka and Coke Lite. Or shooters. And coffee.'. Silence plus note-taking. And measurements on fancy kit. I am delirious to know that 3 kg of my enormous mass is bone. Whoopee. I officially qualify as 'big-boned', for what that is worth. First sessions are tomorrow and Friday, with a full schedule to be drawn up from there. Payment in advance.

Silly dude asked if I'd sign a contract, and eyes widened when I said sure, I'd go for 6 months initial, 3 months renewable after that. He doesn't realise that claiming 3 to 6 months from my estate will be easier for him than having to drag me around while I'm still alive.

Happy Christmas pdoc. Doing this one for you...

most days

I lie in the bath and cry. Because I just don't see the point in getting through the day when tomorrow is more and more statistically likely to be just the same. And then I fall asleep and really screw it up by being disorganised for most of it.

Didn't used to be like this. There used to be good times. Used to be longish periods where I did things, looked forward to waking up, bounced out of bed ready for whatever might happen. Don't know why it changed, or even when it became more likely for the day to be something to survive. Just...somehow over the past ten years, it happened.

I know the things that I should be doing. Exercise. Regular sleep and meals. No alcohol. Take meds. Be sociable. Fall in love.... Doesn't make any difference though. Can be doing all of those one day, and the next it's face first into the wall again. And I am stunned by it every time - why, when nothing has happened since yesterday. Why, when I'm doing everything right. Why.

Coming up for three years with this one, with two short breaks. No timeout this year. I am getting so good at the camouflage. Not good enough to fool myself though. It's as if I flip a switch, for the minutes that I have to spend with people. Turn a personality on, talk crap, watch from deep inside while the walking, talking j-doll performs. Go outside for a smoke, go to the toilet, drive off with whatever bird I have just fetched... and cry. I have made such a work of art - and it seems to get further away from being me every time I display it.

I cry in the bath because by 7 in the morning, I just don't know how I am going to get to the end of a day that has barely started. I cry because I am 43, and in spite of the ways I find to abuse my body, and the risks I take, I am robustly healthy.

I cry because if I don't end it soon, it seems that I'm likely to have another 30 or 40 years of this crap. And when a day of being me is more than I can envisage, a lifetime is just not possible. If someone else were to kill me, their punishment would probably not be as long.

Most days I wish I wasn't....

long and crappy day....

...nuff said.

stuffed every which way

woke up this morning feeling like the walking dead. Not really sure why, seeing as there wasn't anything too strange about yesterday other than the shift at the rehab centre. So did the morning minimum, slept in the bath, slept on the couch. Did the afternoon minimum, slept on the couch.

and somewhere in between the naps decided that I will try behave nicely for December, so that I have some good news for pdoc when he gets back next year. Which basically meant having a vodka and sushi blowout tonight, before I stop drinking for the month, and start going to gym. Seeing as I have already proved that the latter doesn't happen without having my ass kicked, I will sign up tomorrow with a personal trainer from the gym so that I cannot avoid going at least four times a week. Hey, had to shave my legs on Friday for the massage, and bought the track pants weeks ago. Only a pair of lightweight shoes still to get....

I really, really hope that adding the Eldepryl to the mix will propel me into feeling good. It worked for 6 weeks in 2005, so I'm as optimistic as I have been about anything since the f-ing wonder drug Parnate, almost two years ago. But without an iron-clad guarantee at least I should still have something positive to tell pdoc. If, of course, I don't collapse and die the first time the PT gets me on any kind of cardiac equipment, which is always a possibility. Will have to explain very carefully that when I say that I have to rest 3/4 of the way up the stairs to the gym, I am not joking at all. Shit. This is so not going to be fun.

this was a weekend non-work day?

OK, so I get to take weekdays off a lot of the time, but still, there's something about working on weekends that leaves me feeling slightly deprived.

Nightmare morning visit to the city centre. About a million pedestrians all busy ignoring road-rules and seemingly intent on becoming accident statistics. About the same number of minibus taxis doing the same. Me and the woman I was meeting to assess feral pigeon injuries and catching possibilities were very likely the only palefaces in the whole city. Followed by afternoon shift at the centre, where I never quite got into the rhythm, so it was all a stuff-up. And finishing off with an even more nightmare visit to the inner-city tenement area to fetch a feral pigeon with a broken leg. Figure that if there is ever a reason why I would stop being the local mad-pigeon-lady, it will be the insalubrious and dangerous areas that they thrive in. Even though my secret theory is that being suicidal actually makes me bomb-proof. If death is attractive, then the possibility of it happening at random isn't that frightening. And it takes away the guilt and planning aspects too.

Didn't stop me though from being very nervous about the little mongoose in the clinic this afternoon, who was passionately in love with my sandal-clad feet. He was scent-marking and nosing between my toes, and inside my denims, and far too interested in my bare skin for comfort. Not fearing death is a lot easier than dealing with the likelihood of small teeth and painful bites...

number of hours: 24

number of screw-ups: many, many more.....

- have killed every bird that came in, except the one I only picked up at 19h00 tonight. Hey, give that one time, and I'm sure it could just lay down and die on me too.

- good bit for the day: taking my niece for her belated birthday present. We went to one of the fancy day spas, where she had a teen manicure, pedicure and back/shoulder massage. I had a hot stone massage, pedicure and a salt exfoliation. We were only 20 mins late for the appointment - entirely my fault. For a change. To compensate, I got suckered into buying products, almost twice as much as the two packages cost. Even though I know the masseuse was lying when she said the only bad bit of my body was my stomach and that she had a miracle cream that would shrink my fat belly even as I applied it. And that the exfoliating cream would make my revolting feet absolutely sexy. Right. A carving knife for the fat roll, and something to shrink my feet by a third while reshaping all my crooked toes - a) I am uncoordinated and kick things, and b)I played goalkeeper in school hockey, so my broken toe count is somewhere between 26 and 29 - and simultaneously removing the hard and cracked bits caused by walking barefoot all year round? Don't think a couple of hideously expensive creams can do any of that, no matter what seaweed stuff they contain. Niece loved it though, so it was worthwhile.

other good bit, from last night. Local band 'Dog Detachment', from '80s, singing 'Waiting (for a Miracle). Available from One World . Superb.... Buy the album. Now. It's really cheap when you convert the ZAR price to $$. Listen to the sample at SA Rock Digest. Buy an extra copy for someone you like, which will encourage more re-releases of good and old stuff.

not even going to detail the stuff-ups. Just too many....

poster-child for idiocy....

...or I would be if that wasn't a not-very-PC image.

Ended up having to go to yesterday's meeting - boss told me he expected me there. Then he made me sit next to him, which I think was so that he could kick me under the table if I got too irate. Only concrete actions were that I will monitor program usage, and re-send out all the reports that I worked my butt off to produce from June to August, and that no-one has done a damn thing with since. And probably won't do anything with now either. Absolute waste of everything. Then again, I bill them punitively, so apart from actually doing lots of work over the next weeks, I will bill them even harder. Pays to support a lot of little animals, if nothing else.

And today was last appt for the year with p-doc. He thought coffin pin-up calendar was funny, but says he doesn't think he should put it up in his office - not that that was the intention, anyway. After which I screwed up most of the appt by just sitting and crying uselessly. So much so that I can't even remember any of the interesting new articles that he mentioned. I really am an asshole most of the time. He's kind of insisting that I see rooms-partner weekly while he is away, especially given that he is changing meds to something a bit experimental. And that I didn't hand over med-collection either. No point. It's not as if keeping it makes me more -or less - suicidal; just that when I eventually stop dragging this out, at least the method will be more certain. Given that one of the things I'm still all girly about is not being messy. And that I have such a low pain-tolerance anyway that I need to know that it won't hurt too much either. Rules out guns and car-crashes and trains and ropes, and a few more besides. Not like I'd be able to walk in with the hosepipes either, and that would be the prime means anyway.

End of baby bird season. Have to see this one through. Too many little pigeons until then....

so dumb of me, again

...just got home, about 4 hours later than expected, and no, was not out partying. The saga started yesterday, when some woman got hold of the rehab emergency cell no, and after she wailed all over the senior volunteer who had the phone for an hour, s.v. eventually said she would see if she could find help, although it was not wildlife, nor rehab, nor, actually, any bloody thing that the centre does. And calls me. Sucker-of-the-month is going to be my new title.

Turns out the woman has 24 cats and is being evicted from the house she rents, for not paying the rent. "Well" she tells me indignantly, "it's not like it cost the landlord anything, he's selling the house anyway!". Umm, possibly because he couldn't pay the mortgage because you won't pay your rent? Or is that silly real-life economics, and thus irrelevant? So she's found some other sucker to house her, but now the sheriff of the court has come to serve notice on her, and she needs to move asap, and - hysterical sobbing here - how is she going to move all her cats? "Because all the dumb bastards with pick-ups are just so selfish and hard that they won't help poor animals in distress". Right, and maybe the fact that you use some really vile epithets to describe people. And that none of them actually know you anyway, seeing as they are all people you just attack at random and demand service from.

Supposed to happen yesterday but she postponed. I get to the house after fighting rush hour for 45 mins - she isn't there, nothing is ready. I call, she'll be there "in 15 mins max". An hour later I'm almost ready to just leave when she arrives. She demands to hug me, I refuse, she gets all attitudinal with me. More vile terms to describe ex-landlord, new landlord, sundry other people. I tell her not to use those terms when talking with me because I don't like them. More righteous indignation, as in "well it's OK to call him a slimy Jewboy because he is Jewish!" and similar logic for other terms. I tell her I don't like the way she speaks, and to please not do it. She flounces off. I ask her to please pack cats (who are very nervous, she tells me, "because some stupid k** broke in and scared them") in the carriers I'd brought. Four in each of these two, and 12 in the big one. 20 mins later. It starts raining. She yells to me to come inside, I say "no, please just bring the cats in the crates so we can go". She can't work out what she should do. Pack the f-ing cats, I say. 4, 4 and 12, and bring the smaller carriers out to me. Another 30 mins. I am standing out in the rain. She wants to know whether she should put Cat X in with Cat Y. I haven't a freaking clue. Eventually, after she lets one or possibly two out of the crate and then has hysterics, an unknown number of cats are packed in the back of my pick-up. I suggest we leave immediately, I have now been there for more than two hours, and we still have a long way to go. Conniptions about how she will have to come back for all the junk that I wasn't taking (which she had promised to do in the afternoon), about leaving the runaway cat, about where we were going, when I got brutal and told her I was leaving and if she couldn't give me the address, then she could take her own damn cats. Needless to say...wrong address. Wrong number. Wrong street. Wrong bloody evening to do this to me.

The only thing I could actually agree with her on was when she cried a whole lot more, and told me that it wasn't fair that she had to look after all her cats on only a mean little disability grant. Yep, not fair. On the cats.....

was monday named from a phrase meaning disorganised chaos....

..or is it only me that stumbles into the week cursing because I'm never ready for it? Then again, it's about the same for every other day too.

Good bit for the day was that Nicky ate a bit this morning, and I transferred him to my regular vet this afternoon. Hope this cat realises I have a mortgage on his fur for the next ten years, given the huge bill that I had to pay to liberate him from the ER practice. And there will still be more to come, before he gets to go home to the squatter camp.

Apart from that, I fetched two pigeons, a dead mousebird (no, not really...the vet kept the little body. But I did go all the way there before they discovered that it had died fairly soon before), a live but icy cold mousebird and a sparrow.

Didn't do any of the other things I should have.

Did get round to sending a reminder to a bunch of work people to ask if they had read my request to combine the two meetings scheduled with roughly the same subjects, same people, same repetition of what I've already said in at least 5 meetings. So the one dude sends back a very indignant reply and then tells me I wasn't even invited anyway. I say 'yes I was, you invited me yourself.' 'no I didn't'. 'yes you did, and I have your mail to prove it. Sent last week on Thurs morning' 'oh, well I don't want you there anyway'. Gee thanks. I don't actually want to be there much, either. But if he can't remember what invitations he issued 4 days ago, perhaps it shouldn't surprise me that he doesn't do any of the things that he should have been doing for the last 8 months. Dickhead. Other dude hasn't bothered to reply, so I just won't bother to go to his meeting in the morning. Covered my ass though by sending a mail to my boss saying that under the circumstances I wouldn't attend either meeting.

And was saved from the tortoise dilemma by a reminder from an online store to say that the books I ordered ages ago should be delivered in the next 24 hours. Had forgotten about them, and that included in the order are Samuel Shem's 'House of God' and 'Mount Misery', which I ordered to give to pdoc, seeing as he rates them the funniest books he's ever read, but doesn't have copies anymore. So the tortoise can go back to sitting on a shelf for another few months.

Guess bed would be a good idea. Before tomorrow ends up being as wasteful as today...

sunday reruns

of Saturday. Except I went and bought the Sunday paper, so I know for sure that I haven't stumbled into some time warp. Otherwise, early feeds....bath nap....bath nightmare...call about Nicky...feeds....drink too much vodka....stuff around with tortoise paperweight...drink more vodka...listen to 'last CDs' compilation volume #6 repeatedly....blah blah blah....

Think though, that I'll try for pdoc's sober December, from tomorrow. Excluding team lunch if it happens - which I doubt. Besides, here is nerdy Homer my boss sending out an invite for lunch from 13h00 - 19h00; it is virtually compulsory for me to attend and drink him under the table for no reason other than just because I can. Um. I hope I still can - I am way out of practice, and I honestly have no idea of whether he drinks at all, or what his capacity is.

Nicky is still listed as critical, and on a drip. Vet reckons though that he is more reactive than he was yesterday, so there's still hope. Don't even want to know what this bill is going to run to. Tomorrow morning, if he is stable enough, I will transfer him to my regular vet.

And the tortoise looks like something your average 6-year-old would produce in craft lessons. Bummer. If I can get some liquid perspex tomorrow I might resuscitate the project in a new form, otherwise it's history. Should have known that I am way too unartistic to even try something like that.

Bed now, I guess. 90mg Remeron, 800mg Neurontin, 10mg Ambien and 30mg Inderal aren't quite enough to make me sleep, or to keep me asleep until morning. But the vodka should help.

And somehow I will make myself go to gym this week.....

exceedingly dumb....

....way to spend a Saturday. Call it over-reaction.

Last night, as I was about to stuff my face with supper and go to bed, Andy the squatter-camp kitty's gran phoned in a panic - Nicky, Andy's brother had eaten poison, she thought. Lots of poison used in the camp to kill insects and rats, and being environmentally friendly isn't even on the priority list. He hadn't come home on Thurs and had just crawled in and collapsed, please could I help. I know that he is a beautiful, healthy, well cared-for boy of 18 months, so crammed chicken down my throat and went to see. I thought he was dead. Cold, wet from the rain, only felt a thready heartbeat when I pressed my fingers along his sternum. So, off to the emergency vet, stopping only to pick up semisane cat-buddy (one block off the direct route) so that she could hold Nicky, and I could drive faster. Called ahead, and we got him straight onto the table. Fluids up, atropine and cortisone, treating the shock primarily because we didn't know what he'd eaten. Going to be another huge vet bill for all of this. Nicky is still there, still on a drip, still critical. They reckon he is slightly more responsive - 'slightly' is not a good sign after 24 hours. And cat-buddy suggested that I ask for liver and kidney function tests, to see whether it's worth keeping on. Would be a bit crap to give him all the ICU-type treatment only for him to die in a couple of weeks from systemic damage.

So...after early-morning feeds and the obligatory bath-nap with a nightmare surpassed only by yesterday's version, I have spent the afternoon and evening drinking way too much vodka while I try put together a miniature tortoise shell that I want to turn into a paperweight for pdoc. As in, must be done by thurs - after I've farted around not doing it for three months. Shell is about 2 inches long, from a baby Leopard tortie that died shortly after it was brought to me. I left the body in my mealworm culture so that the worms could clean out the shell, which sort of worked, but the membrane holding the shell together got a bit smelly, so I had to remove it, and the shell has been lying in about twenty bits in the bathroom ever since. This afternoon, I put the base together, used plaster of paris to keep it in place and to hold two lead fishing sinkers for weight, and then super-glued the plates to the plaster. At the same time, I superglued three fingers together, and attached another one to the desk. Since then, I have covered most of myself and the room with plaster and glue. It's like doing a 3-D jigsaw without a picture, no idea of the actual sizes, and only a guarantee that every single angle is different. Suspect he might not get it for this Christmas. Have a new method involving plasticine planned for tomorrow, after I have bought the plasticine and lots more superglue.....

The first of my exciting things bought on the net in the last month arrived yesterday...the pin-up girls with coffins calendar from
Cofani Funebri. This is a classic, and they are produced as a fun thing. Which is good, seeing as I don't see pin-up calendars going too well in most undertakers offices. Or maybe I just have a warped sense of humour....scratch the maybe.

For now though, think it's time to drag my drunken carcass off to bed. Hope my innate ability to not get hang-overs is still in evidence in the morning....