ugh...long day

So my quiet day at home turned into going through to the centre with the very sick owl from Friday night, staying there most of the morning. Got home and was just making coffee, when my sister phoned to say their car had broken down and she, BIL and 2 kids were sitting on the side of the road with two weeks worth of holiday luggage about 2 hours south of JHB. So it was off to fetch them, pack everything into my (luckily) capacious bakkie, wait for the tow truck to get there for their car, and back to JHB. Long afternoon, but I was so impressed by my niece (9) and nephew (8) who sat on the side of the road for 4 hours, then crammed into the back with all the luggage and my BIL, and both remained cheerful and happy all the way home. Actually, my niece was in such a good mood that she sang and told jokes for most of the trip - sister whispered to me that after that marathon interactive session, BIL was going to deserve a drink the minute we got home! A kid can tell an awful lot of bad 9-year old 'knock-knock' and 'chicken' jokes in 2 hours.

I dunno, Lily...don't see any hope. I'm just being a bass-ackward idiot as usual. I don't know that having one reason not to die, and that being something I can't even ask for, is really too smart. It works on a day to day basis for now, until I finally realise though that sticking around for something that isn't available even though I don't want to die without it is just more of a waste of time and energy. Day to day, though....

work, damn work! and some good news too

So do I whine about work first or share the good bits.....hmmmm.

Good news I think: I had two calls today who between them have covered the remainder of Andy's vet bills. So now anything that comes from the chocolates is going to be used to buy food and dewormers, which Children of Fire boss will distribute in Slovo, as she says none of the recognised pet-helpers really do much in the camp. I'm hoping for close to another R1000-00, which will deworm and feed a couple hundred cats for a while. Yay. I am overwhelmed by the way this has just 'happened', all along. Andy showed up, I had to help, but I was really expecting that it would end up being just me and a big vet bill. To see the way that other people have willingly chipped in has been great.

Although it was not my intention originally, I think I might look at whether it would be possible to keep the Andy-fund running in some way. Especially if I can abuse Bronwen as a distribution service - she knows the whole structure of the camp, the people, the animals etc. It's more ambitious than I had thought of, but if I can get a couple of hundred rands worth of food and meds in every month.....WOW!

Work was good and bad. And long. I ended up spending 8 hours there, which is way longer than I am used to! And the Nardil postural hypotension bit has kicked in big time, so when I sit for a while and then try walk across the room, there is some serious disconnection between brain and body. The one time, I was trying to talk intelligently at the same time, and I was seriously wondering whether I was going to fall on my face before I reached something I could hold on to. Interesting, but not the most fun drug abuse I've ever had!

There might be more work that I will have to do. From everything I know about being a damn good DBA, the new site take-on is an important, deserving of care project. But it doesn't justify a full time on site person for two months (which the guy who wants the two month contract is telling them) and another application DBA person as well. It's about a half day position most of the year, with 3 months of an hour or two, and 3 months of full day. Not 2 or 3 people! It's the sort of site that I have run on my own most of my life, and to me, the big reason for outsourcing the DBA services is so that you never have to rely on only one person knowing the site, and so that when your prime DBA goes away, you have someone available for day to day stuff.

The good news is that they still want to keep me, the bad news is that they want to make it more formal, by making me go through a contract house. On the other hand, at least that should remind me to bill every month!!

So now, I need to check on baby Miky the mynah and his two pigeon friends, the snake, who I gave blupper to just now (what do you call it, when you only get fed once a week??), the ten little mice who don't know yet that they have just joined the food chain and are busy running around being so cute that I might just quietly release them instead, the sick pigeon, and the very sick owl who has bad trichomoniasis, which is what owls who eat pigeons that are carriers get, and which is why people say pigeons carry disease. He is really really sick - nose and throat full of maggot eggs, big plug of yuckky mucus wedged in throat (takes about 1 month to 6 weeks for mucusy hole to heal), so has been cleaned up, given two different antibiotics, traumeel, fluids only until he is stronger.....I have put him in the kitchen rather than the clinic because I don't want him infecting my healthy pigeons. Can't wait to use that line, as normally it's the other way round!

And apart from all that, I realised today that there is actually only one thing that I am staying alive for. Might sound dumb, but I figured today that there is one man who I would like to kiss - and apart from that I can't think of any good reason for staying alive. The rest of everything - work, family, animals, birds, day to day stuff is just that. Stuff. None of it justifies wasting this much oxygen, none of it justifies sticking around. Guess the saddest bit is the man concerned is not someone I would ever actually approach, it means either I drag on until I give up wishing for that, or I just die knowing that I'm doing it without achieving the sweetest thing out.

Or, in my dreams, the meds start working, and the psychotherapy makes me confident and happy and the pigs flying past the window all wave their fat little trotters as they pass...

birds, beasts and chocolates

Half the insane people in JHB have my cell number. They pass it on to each other, as well. My phone-book is full of entries like 'pigeon ros', 'mynah sandy', 'duck louise' - so that when they call again to say 'I brought you a bird last year and now I have another one....', I can make intelligent remarks like 'yes, it was that beautiful pigeon'.

It would probably be better for me if I pretended ignorance of any bird prior to yesterday, but I can't - when people care enough to get hold of me, and then to follow up on 'their' babies progress, I feel obliged to at least try to know what it was and where I got it from.

Monday's call came 5 minutes after I'd curled up for my afternoon nap. I felt guilty, but arranged to come out in about 2 hours - before that happened, they phoned to say building management had called someone. I asked them to get his name, because if there is some other sucker out there caring for baby mynahs, it would be useful for both of us to have backup. Tuesday's call came - again, as I settled in for a morning nap - but this time I leaped straight into action. Turned out building management had called pest control, and the girls involved had refused to let them take the baby.

I arrive. Baby is a mynah nestling who has fallen through the steel grid of the roof where they nest, onto the 3rd floor balcony of an office building. Mom and Dad are guarding him fiercely. Very fiercely. When the sliding door had been opened to take baby a saucer of water, the parents had flown inside, terrorised everyone in the office, and then patrolled the balcony. When I looked at him, he was a just-fledgling, who would have needed another week at least of care. The bird-lovers in the office said they hadn't seen him being fed, and couldn't stand to find a little body there. The smokers and coffee-drinkers said they weren't prepared to walk up and down three flights of steps for 2 weeks just because some damn bird wouldn't allow them out the door! As a smoker, coffee-drinker and bird-lover, I had to agree with all 3 groups.

So...no problem, I say - I'll take him. 'By yourself?' they ask. 'Without protective gear?' No problem....macho girl says, it's just a little bird! I got nailed. Hard enough that I checked for blood. Mom and Dad did not approve of me going out there, of looking at baby, of picking up baby, and of taking him away. Baby didn't really approve either, until he got fed, and then he was happy.

I haven't spoken to the office since then, but, based on my last sighting of two parents watching beady-eyed through the glass door....I wouldn't bet on a peaceful smoke out there for a few days yet!

Today's unwilling call was a duck with a broken wing. So he'll need taking to the bird vet before tomorrows shift - yep, got bullied into a shift as well.

And Andy-cat has an early vet delivery for his leg to be cleaned and checked, and while he's prone, will have his nuts denutted as well. Might help prevent future problems.

The heroes for the day though, are Dr Marc Verseput of Craighall Vet who has promised to keep Andy's bill under R2000 - lots of leg work, 3 days of public holiday, a week of care, bandages, neutering, more sedation etc. I was expecting something closer to twice that. Thank you Marc. And thank you Ken Cosgrove of the Fury car dealer group. Ken already supports the wildlife rehab centre at every event, plus he has become a 'volunteer husband' and he and his wife are the recognised chimney experts - even though he doesn't like heights! When he heard of Andy, and my hope for some help with the medical bills, he immediately bought 20 boxes of the chocolates that Children of Fire had donated to Andy. Thank you Ken, thank you Fury Auto group, and thank you to the Fury management team who are eating expensive chocs whether they wanted to or not! Now if only Ken had 40 unmarried brothers.....

sick and sorry

I spent most of last week asleep on the couch. On Friday night I had to go to a compulsory fundraiser, which was tortuous and I know I drank more than I should have. On Saturday I spent most of the day thinking of how much of a relief just dying could be, and blamed it on a hangover. By Sunday, I started thinking that 6 days of diarrhoea, two days of death-warmed-up, and a week of oversleep might be not entirely signs of health.

So being a chicken in terms of physical health....love my p-doc, hate seeing any other kind....got something for the diarrhoea from the chemist. That helps a bit, but I still spent most of the day asleep.

And Andy has gone to semi-sane cat lady. She keeps justifying not having a tenant in her cottage due to kitty needs for it. And I had need. I had 4 kitties who wouldn't leave me alone the whole weekend, but who had a fight over every meal. All fights started by 5-year old neutered Toby, who has never had a testosterone related thought in his life. Until now. Supper tonight was a pleasure - everyone ran for it and hunkered down as normal. I have promised cat-lady friend whatever rental she desires, for the next two weeks of her cottage. I think my last offer was dinner at any restaurant she had ever wanted to go to for every two days that Andy stays with her. Cheap at the price of peace in the house....

Still feeling not so good. Don't want to blame it on p-meds, cos then I have to tell p-doc. See how much of tomorrow I spend being sick or asleep before I decide.

beastie things

Good and bad.

My cybervet friend has had the week from hell with her cats, one (sickly) youngster dying, one semi-feral being hit by a car - they live on a very isolated bit of a farm, so there is only about one car a week - and today, her big old boy died of kidney failure. Big hug, my friend, and remember that they all had good lives with you.

Andy the squatter-camp kitty is now staying with me, as he needs medicating twice daily, and confinement. And has to go back to have his wound cleaned twice weekly under sedation. So he'll be with me for two or three weeks. Told burn-victims friend I might not give him back after that, because he is just such a sweet cuddly boy!

My own horde are not sure yet about having a cat in the spare room. They already feel deprived because there are normally birds there, so they aren't allowed in anyway. But now there's a talking kitty! They have all been very affectionate today, while they decide whether to be upset with me or not.

There's been a dog-food crisis here again. After an anti-freeze contamination (very exclusive supermarket brand, 35 dogs dead) a month or two ago, and the whole Menu Foods in the US, I am just so impressed with how Royal Canin have handled this. Well, other than the question of why dog food and anti-freeze are anywhere near each other to begin with. Nineteen cases of renal failure, all on dogs being fed a RC local vet-only brand of senior food. So some of them could have been semi-expected. RC got feedback, immediately asked all vets to pull all varieties of the food, and to ask clients not to feed it until more is known. Partial bags can be returned for a refund. Vets and clients are being kept up to date daily. I was at two local vets today, both with phones going crazy and food piling up behind the desks, although neither had yet had a problem.

Comparing this to the whole way Menu Foods has had to be virtually coerced into admitting a problem, the huge temporary loss on returned foods, and what will inevitably be a loss of future sales for a brand that was positioned as the local top food....

If they can provide a reason for the contamination, and, more specifically, why it will not happen again, I think I will go back to using the brand. I know they are in business to make money, but I like to know that they care enough about my animals to be honest when health versus profits arise.

too lazy for much

- missed out on afternoon nap (I rather like GG's theory that it's not laziness, it's allergies!), have taken night time meds already, so am hoping that the combination will result in early to bed and maybe sleep through a bit longer.

So just one pic, of some of our babies born at the centre.



Currently, we have 3, including one baby, but the adults refuse to accept her, so the poor little thing is stuck on her own in the clinic. Where one of the daily jobs is 'take meerkat out and play with her....(until she bites, and then you are allowed to sling her back into confinement)'. Playing chase the cricket is a favourite game so far.

reliable thermometers

never mind all the debate on celcius vs fahrenheit, or kelvins and other arcane scientific measures. They should run the world on kittytherms, a consistent, dependable measure of actual temperature as it pertains to life.

I can tell winter is almost here, because I have a kittytherm of 3.5. When Tess finally moves between my calves, it will be winter. I don't need to know the actual number of degrees on any scale - I can tell immediately by how many bodies are under the duvet before me, and how many stay there for the night.

Of course, for extra measurements, there are factoids like how close Toby can put his luxurious whiskers to the heater without setting fire to them (never, touch wood), and whether the relative warmth of a kittytherm is related to the number taking part in the thermopile - I think it must be.

And then of course, with my friend F (don't want to call her the mad cat lady....it would be too close to what I worry about for my own future), who has 20 odd cats. Her kittytherm calculation is based around not only heat and the desirability of it, but factors like the relative status of mommy's armpit versus a hip, under duvet versus on top. She said that she had worked out once that it had to be the middle of winter when she was sweating and unable to move because of the optimum arrangement of eleven kitties.

Hmmm, maybe a thermometer that varies depending on how many you have might not be the ideal scientific method.....

they happen...days do...

...and then at least they end. Somehow one feeds the requisite number of small birds and animals enough food.

My vet called to say that although our variety is not yet implicated, there is another dog food scare, and until more is known she'd rather I avoided giving Zac anymore. He loved it - kitty kibble and stew for dinner!

I made a list of the currently scheduled meetings with boss, including this mornings rescheduling for tomorrow. Sent him a mail saying I was totally confused by all of the 18 variations of what I thought were actually only 3 meetings and got back a reply saying that today's one was actually already rescheduled. Never mind billing him for hours spent going to and attending meetings, I am tempted to bill at about 5 times my normal rate for the amount of time it takes to work out whether there is or isn't a meeting, and when it might actually be.

I did the washing, and hung it up. But it can stay out for the night.

I slept. A bath nap. A couch nap. Another couch nap after I drove to the corner shop for eggs. Have managed 4 hours awake, including cooking and eating of eggs. And three large vodkas.

I suspect it's not the meds, that it is purely the fact that I am a useless human being. Although Sam the cat reckons the fat squishy bits of me are good for kneading at least.....

days...where are they going?

I was sitting here mid-morning wrapped in nothing but a bath towel, thinking thoughts of the household tasks that I really have to accomplish before my domestic worker returns on the weekend and disowns me.

And the first task leaped up and bit me - it's Tuesday, not Monday, and I was due at my p-doc halfway across town in less than an hour. Good thing I was already bathed, not much else about denims and a t-shirt takes much time.

After which, it was a back and forth progression across town, fetching and catching birds, until returning home to feed my birds and cats and dog.

I suspect it might be the meds, either the increase in Tertroxin, or the increase in Nardil. I sleep appallingly at night, waking up 5 or 6 times at least. But from about 09h00 until 17h00, I can achieve one succession of naps after another, literally waking only to feed animals before another small nap returns me to the couch.

Said to p-doc today that excluding cat and dog children, I don't want any more visitors. I have run out of caring. I know that I will take them because no one else will. But I wish that people wouldn't make me. I just want Joyce to come back and care for the dogs and cats, and then I want to go hide out.

Ha-ha. Good timing, just as boss discovers me and declares at least two meetings a week. He owes me though, because someone - and it wasn't me - stuffed up yesterday morning, and at 05h00 I was busy fixing problems I hadn't a clue about how had been broken in the first place. Think I might need that favour to claim.

I'm tired. I'm enough. I just want out.

more little meerie pics

Just a bit to the left....mmmmm...that's it! Tripod gets a scratch with a goose feather.



A small donation would be appreciated! Maybe a mealworm or two?



Digger and his babies.....does this make them diglets? (And yes, they do both have heads!!)

weird and wonderful and everything else

Public holidays and Easter stuff. I was about to leave the house to go fetch a snake who has had to have part of his tail amputated from one of our 'rehab-friendly' vets, when I got a 'desperate' call from ex-neighbour who runs a charity for burn victims. She'd just had a couple from the squatter camp where she does a lot of work, contact her, asking if she could lend them some cash so that the local vet would look at their injured cat. She said no ways, we'd sort something out instead. So I took cat and owners with me to the other vet, will twist his arm into a bit of a discount, but am likely to end up paying for it myself. These people, living in a tin shack with no water or electricity, cared enough for their cat to walk 3 or 4 kms carrying him in a pillowcase, only to have the so-called vet refuse to even see him without payment in advance. It's a public holiday, and a long weekend. "Andy" is a very healthy, happy looking male of almost a year. It looks as if he caught his leg in a snare, so apart from a raw, open wound which is showing signs of infection, there is almost definitely a break as well. It needs major treatment, which could have waited until he could be taken to the SPCA tomorrow. What couldn't have waited was pain-relief, and getting him started on anti-biotics. The vet is a private practice, so I wouldn't expect them to donate x-rays and ops etc. It would have taken them 5 minutes to look at Andy, explain to his owners about restraining him till he could be taken to the SPCA tomorrow, and to give him about R20 (retail, cost price about R5) worth of immediate meds. Owners had brought R50 with them - all they had, but they were willing to spend it on the cat. Instead of on food for themselves for the next few days.

Melville Animal Clinic (Melville Vet, Melville vet hospital, Melville Animal hospital)....yes guys, I want this to show up on every site that you do..., JHB, South Africa. You SUCK. BIG-TIME. Yes, you are a business, but there are times when a small financial loss for people who are in business PRIMARILY to care and love for animals would be worth it. As it is....my burn-victims charity friend will be publishing your lack of care in her newsletter. She is a loud-mouthed activist. That's probably going to be the most expensive R20 you ever threw away...

That was my effort and energy for the day. P-doc is not too happy about it, but at the moment I'm taking 4mg benzos, 15mg others and a large shot of vodka to make me sleep. Even after that, I wake up 5 or 6 times a night. The cats claw me awake for breakfast, I feed the birds, and then sleep for another 2 or 3 hours in the bath. Feed birds, and fight off another nap - today I lost the fight. Doesn't matter whether I do or not, sleep at night is forced and feeble, but can sleep the whole day without even trying. Maybe I'm being an atypical idiot again, and can get written up as the first person who gets flattened by Nardil. Really don't need that.

On the lighter side, I am getting all keen on what and why people end up visiting here. My best so far? 'Daniel Radcliffe Equus pictures'. Yo...well I don't have any, but if someone wants to send a few I'll publish them under a title of 'dirty old women....' or somesuch!

hmmmm.....not so much fun, I don't think

Having realised that one of the 4 meetings I have suddenly been scheduled for coincided with my p-doc appointment, I sent new boss a polite apology saying that I can never make meetings on a Thurs morning due to a "regular class".

Ha f-ing ha. I got two compulsory ones in return, both scheduled for 14h00 - 15h00 in Midrand, one on Weds, and one on Fri. Which means basically, 1 hour in a meeting, 3 hours in traffic, if I'm lucky.

I did mention, when we scheduled last weeks compulsory-for-that-day performance appraisal, that generally I will come to meetings in Midrand - which is about 30 kms away - if they are between the hours of 10 (start) and 14 (end), otherwise traffic is just horrendous. I suspect he is making a subtle point here. I suspect I shall make an even more subtle one back in hours billed. Hey, to me, time spent sitting in traffic when it doesn't have to be done, is worth about 3 or 4 times the actual hours. What new boss or anyone else doesn't quite realise is that I actually couldn't care less if they fire me. I would feel a bit bad for my client, given that no-one else would actually give them as good service as I do without it being noticed in any way except lack of down time.

But it would give me that just one more reason for taking the quick out. And mostly just one more would be enough...

Not quite a reason yet, but heading there, is that my parents are keen that I go do some genteel, residential program. Basically it's a rehab centre. But they cover their bases by saying that "they appreciate that substance abuse is often associated with an underlying psychiatric disorder". Think my parents are probably really pissed off with me after last nights email, where I said no way, in fairly definite terms.
Reasons :
1.P-doc doesn't practice there, and I would have to see some arb dude, who, from his (claimed online) work load, would see me for about 5 mins a week.
2.T-doc wouldn't be allowed there, as they have a bunch of 'specially chosen' psychologists and nurses. They do allow for external 'consultants', but only under exceptional circumstances.
3.They would take one look at my current meds and whip them away. Meds might not be working, but I doubt whether 20mg of Prozac would help much either. P-doc, amongst many of his other skills, is renowned for being really good on psycho-pharmacology. Like knowing how to mix TCAs and MAOIs, generally regarded as a no-go. So 3 weeks there would probably be just about enough to go cold turkey on my psych meds. Of course, they would be congratulating themselves on the 3 weeks of no alcohol, and the compulsory AA,NA and CA meetings (all three, regardless of one's personal drug of choice....). Wow. Should be just about enough to hang myself from one of the trees in the beautiful gardens they pride themselves on.

I am pretty close to giving up and letting p-doc check me into his consulting hospital. It's not a psych hospital. Even the psych ward is pretty useless. But that's where p-doc is, and it's close enough to her home for t-doc to see me most days. And they're what's making me hang on right now.

this could be either fun or fired....

I didn't post about this last week, because I'm still not actually sure what will happen.

Lying in the bath on Friday morning, 90% asleep, when the cell rings. It's my current boss, asking why I haven't responded to his emails for two months. Irreverent thought of why it has taken him 2 months to ask this goes through mind, but I restrain myself, and ask if he is using my correct address. Which almost everyone else in the office manages to use. Turns out not. He tells me he needs to do a performance appraisal. I say sure, anytime. He says how about today. As in....it is the last day of March and they obviously are due by then. I am still 90% asleep, and therefore co-operative, so I agree to come to the office for a meeting.

First mistake - he needs to be reminded that I don't do meetings, if I do very grudgingly do them, I bill them from the second I leave home until I return, and I don't do them at my employers offices because I hate going halfway to Pretoria through bad traffic. I do them at client's offices, coffee shops or my house. However, we'll give him this one as a 'new boss' bonus.

Oh boy, meeting. Now as background, I resigned from permanent job, where I was supporting 6 clients. One took their services away (planned). One took their services away (unplanned) - they just weren't willing to have any of the other people in the team working on their system. One was my client only, because of the specific software they run. No problem says my company, we have hired someone with those skills. Took him 4 months to screw up, and given that client is a major retailer who does 30% of business between Nov and Jan, it was not happy. I got called, asked if I would come in, fix, sort paper out later. So I did.

And sort paper out later has become the norm. My boss left about 3 months after I did, and since then, management has been done by a series of "borrowed" managers. And for me, it's worked well. They keep paying me, which is all that really matters.

So new boss says that he needs to confirm my contract, but can't find it. Oh, says I, that's probably 'cos I don't think I have one currently. But you must! he says looking horrified. I say why, as long as they pay me, that's OK. But at what rate,, he asks? Not enough. say I, but it it's still borderline fair. He looks weak, and decides to change points.

"Now we need to do your performance appraisal" (by the end of the day, hmmm??) "and I can't find a performance agreement for you". Oh, says I joyfully, I don't have one of those. Boss looks weaker and paler. I decided to let him off the hook a bit. I point out that I am not a permanent employee, so don't need or want a career growth plan. I have one client, and one client only (who happens to be the most important one by a huge factor). I look after one area of their systems, which was supposed to have died about 6 year ago, and they are currently talking another two years.

If I need space, or downtime, or uptime, it's arranged between me and a select group of people who have the same goals. It works. Client is happy. Client hasn't had unscheduled outage on my bit of the system for two years. Client couldn't care less about what my performance agreement or appraisals say.

Unfortunately, poor new boss does. I think I will hit him for at least a 10% rate increase, just because he is making me do this paperwork. And paperwork it is...by the kilogram. Since he got my actual mail address....there have been 17 mails, all with large attachments. Not sure yet what I should be doing with them, because I haven't read them. Just seeing them was enough to make me go have a nap instead....

things that really really hurt

I saw my last p-doc for over 5 years.

Then there was a stuff-up, where he told me he wanted to do 10 ECT's, and did 6, and then he went away for a week. And didn't come back. And all his rooms would say was that they'd put my name down for an appt when he did get back but they wouldn't say when.

My t-doc phoned about another patient, and got the same story, other than that she was told if it was an emergency, his partner (in the practice, and as in girlfriend type partner), would see patients but only if it was important.

My sister somehow got me in to see current p-doc.

When M eventually reappeared, it turned out he'd collapsed while hunting, and had ended up having all sorts of heart surgery. I asked why his receptionist hadn't said anything about health problems, and he got very angry about not wanting to share his health issues with the whole world.

I went away and thought about the way the whole issue had been handled. And about M wanting to leave the country. And about current p-doc's rep. And then I did what I thought was moral, and right. I made another appt, and went to him and said 'M, I'm going to keep seeing J for the following...'. Didn't really get into the reasons, he said straight out that he wished J luck, because I had been enough of a headache to him already. And a couple of other nasties about ditching him when he was down, etc

T-doc told me about a week ago that he is closing practice, and moving to Holland. I sent a bland email to the common address, saying I wished him luck, and if he had time, I'd love to see him for coffee. In the last two years, I've sent 4 or 5 mails, when I've thought of him, just saying that I hope stuff is going well.

So tonight I was just really thinking of him, and how much I hope his move goes well, and that somehow I still really care for him. So I phoned his cell, from my landline (cos my cell was charging). It didn't go to voice mail, so I hung up after about 10 rings. An hour later, landline rings, which I very seldom answer. But I did.

"This is Dr x, returning your call." I'm like so ecstatic to hear his voice! I say 'hey, M, this is jcat, how are ------

He hung up.

I hoped, really hoped, that it had been a dropped signal. So being the dumb stupid thickskinned c**t that I am, I called back. No reply.

Two hours later. I haven't cut, because my left arm is so stuffed that I already went today and bought long sleeved T's. And I don't want to start on anywhere else, because i probably wouldn't stop. And I already took the meds plus extras plus vodka mix.

And I just can't stop thinking about a man - not only p-doc, he did the t-doc bit as well - who knew me so well for so long. He knew me eventually in ways that it will take 100 years of marriage before I ever open up that deep again.

He couldn't even have the balls to tell me to piss off, that two years after I stopped seeing him in as professional a manner as I could manage, he still hates me.

He just hung up.

I must be a really loathsome, cretinous asshole in his opinion...

double doc day

As I was on my way across town this morning, I got a call from p-doc's rooms offering me his last appt of the day.

So I delivered 3 mynahs and 6 pigeons to their new daddy, ended up getting another baby pigeon, and then went to see t-doc. Guess it's a total waste of her time, because there's not much she can tell me, or get me to think about. I just about don't even cry, am just too lost and sunken in pain. All she can do for me is a bit of psychological hand-holding, and I wish I could tell her how very important that is to me.

Hey, and as per Shrink Raps recent posts 'your doctor is making jokes about you' and 'laughter is a drug', we still manage to make jokes. Except they're mostly about suicide, and she doesn't really find them funny. Very black humour.

And then a few kms up the road to p-doc. Went and ate lunch. Twice. Had a nap in the car. And then went and wasted his time too. Although he thought nearly being arrested for the bike helmet was funny. He can't do much on meds, he's already increasing the Nardil and the trimipramine as fast as possible, especially when he knows that I am being so non-compliant about everything else. Because I just don't give a damn. He offered me hospital three times - which in his terms means he thinks it would be a very good idea. I can't. The only person who I trust with my cats and dogs is Joyce, my maid, and she is going home to Zimbabwe for two weeks on Weds.

Dogs. I have to get used to saying dog. At the moment, I can't get another dog, because it would be just one more animal to make arrangements for.

irony, irony, irony....

A sunny afternoon, one of the few this month. A complete shortage of vodka. So decided to take new bike for a bit of a race around the neighbourhood in pursuit of an open bottle store. Looked at helmet, decided against it. So what happens?

I get pulled over by the Metro cops. They give me lots of hassle about confiscating the bike and arresting me, until the one guy says to me 'you know it's illegal. So why?' And I said 'cos the sun is shining, it's a new bike, I just had to....'.

He rolled his eyes, pulled his own helmet out from the back of the van, said they'd follow me home (only about 10 blocks), and don't ever do it again. Thank you, cops!

So having put my own helmet on, I go back out on the vodka mission. Still dead sober. Pull over to get a soft drink. Moving too slowly, misjudge the weight of the bike, and can't hold it through the turn. Drop it on the right hand side - break the hand-brake and the mirror off, put a couple of small scratches on the exhaust. Fuck.
Dead sober and I drop the bike. How stupid is that.

Am almost at ex b/f's house, so phone him for help. He's out, will only be home in 30 mins, so find a pub I didn't know existed to wait at, that is only two blocks from his house. Ha. 4 double vodka's later, and they sell me a take-away bottle too.

I've lost it. I'm losing it even more. This morning along with my 75mg Nardil I figured bacon and eggs was a good idea. It's not only the drinking, although that is probably the worst of it. It's the whole death wish thing. If I don't have the guts to go right out and do it, it seems that I'll push it in every other way possible.

Left a msg for p-doc asking for an appt sooner than Thu. See if I get it. If I do, will throw up hands metaphorically and ask for help. If not? If not..

very good recipe

Prepare ingredients:
100 ml vodka, plus as little coke lite as it takes to make it palatable
100 mg trimipramine
450 mg lithium
4 mg loprazolam - benzodiazepine
7.5 mg (or 15 mg) zolpidem

Shake all dry ingredients in hand. Wish longingly that you had the guts to take the rest of what's available.
Swirl vodka and coke, consider that 100 ml could make many grown men fall over, yet you are using it as a drug wash-down.

Swallow all pills, along with vodka.

Go sit somewhere safe, like the bathroom, for a last cigarette before sleep.

Wait.

Sometimes sleep comes.

Sometimes it doesn't. In which case, repeat the zolpidem/vodka/benzo mix again.

I sent t-doc an sms last night, to say that maybe a time-out is getting necessary. Seeing as I lack the balls and the organisational skills to do it for good. She agrees. Just such a pity that I hit the wall on the weekend where p-doc's partner is on call - out of the 5 of them who do coverage, she is the only one who I don't want to see at all. History, and small birds in hospitals....

I think tonight is a repeat the z/v/b combo again. Because it's not working after 30 mins, and that is longer than I can handle. When it gets to out-a-here, it needs to be fast.....

peter pan

Last time I went skiing in Colorado with my parents, it was in a way as a baby-sitter for my niece and nephew. They are both showing signs of turning into demon skiiers, just like my mom.

We went to see the movie of 'Peter Pan', and I was so very glad to be sitting at the end of the row, so that nobody realised that I had tears running down my face for most of the movie.

Especially when Peter said "To die will be an awfully good adventure".

I was sobbing, because it won't be. Dying is hopefully the end of everything. I don't want any more good adventures. If I did, I would stay here and have them.

big dog sized hole in the house

I miss Whiz, Zac does too.

But why can't I get a house call where the doc will give me a big hug, make me comfortable and let me say adios. We do it for the animals we love, yet we won't give it to people. Sucks.

Saw t-doc today, saw p-doc today. He is still optimistic. I'm not.

Am now working on how many puny, useless benzo's I can take, mixed with how much vodka, before I hit the sweet, sweet moment of take them and sleep. More than hoped, more than expected.

I just can't do this any more. I need out, and I don't want to hurt people by doing it. But everyday I open my eyes and think 'oh fuck, dying in my sleep didn't happen'. Everyday it's just a bit less important to not hurt others, and a bit more of 'just let me outta here.'.

I have the best family posible. I have the best p-doc possible, the best t-doc, the best jobs. Just a pity I am such an asshole loser that I can't live up to them all.

bigtime loser and friends

Apart from having gotten as drunk as possible since Monday afternoon, I haven't done very much. Took all the birds I could into the centre, but they keep coming in from all over. Actually, drunk as possible is a bit of a misnomer - I am drinking huge quantities with no effect at all, other than eventually passing out about two hours after my large amount of evening meds. I wake up at about 04h00 thinking OMG, why did I do that, but after getting out of bed and drinking as much water as I possibly can, I go back to sleep and wake up feeling no worse than I feel every damn day of the past two years.

P-doc will be unimpressed though. Not only the drinking, but I have ripped up my arm with the razor blade every day since Friday. I have run out of left bicep. I have cut the 3 long Adidas stripes on the left forearm every day for four days. I am now about halfway down the forearm with the neat, 2 mm apart stripes. Only consolation is that - as always -the cuts are clean and neat and shallow, and will heal up within a few days. Asshole. Funnily enough, I don't cut anywhere except my arm, and -maybe because I'm right-handed - it's almost always the left arm. Last time in hospital I ran out of left arm completely, and started on the right - which made having blood pressure taken a somewhat painful procedure.

Saw t-doc today, asked for sooner than scheduled. Couldn't talk about anything though, because there isn't anything to say. So it's more just a mental hug than anything else. She wants me to think about a time-out in hospital again. No point. It's a hospital, with a half-assed pretence at a psych ward. There are only two points in its favour - I see p-doc twice most days, albeit very briefly, and I would probably not drink. Not that I couldn't. Hell, the first time I was there I was desperate for decent food, and ended up driving down the road for a steak and a few beers, and they never even noticed. But if I'm going to do it, then not drinking is a kind of moral obligation. As well as a good idea. And as always, I will have the lengths of pool hose stashed behind the seats. Just in case. And in case is so close to being reality.

Have had two strange conversations today. One with ex p-doc, whose farm I lived on for 3 years, and whose family dog was Whiz's mother. Texted him to ask if I could take Whiz's ashes back there, to spread down at the river, and he phoned just now. He's not living there anymore, business deal with a friend went sour, and amongst everything else, he lost the farm. But he's working as a p-doc again, after a bit of a break, and sounds as if he's getting back on track.

The other was with ex-boss from the IT job. We had/have a strange relationship. I told him, and everyone else around, that he was an asshole, and we fought bitterly for a year. He then ended up in a position where it became important to get me on site at the main client, and working on other clients as well, and within about 6 months he won me over completely. He is one of the best bosses I have ever had. Not for most people, but he motivated me completely. And then the last few months that we worked together, we ended up having the strangest cyber-sex relationship. Literally, out of nowhere - just happened one day, completely unexpectedly. It was his decision though, that it would never go any further - that talking sex and fantasies and everything was one thing, but that he would never even consider anything more, because of being married. Hell, I would have jumped his bones in a microsecond, if he'd agreed. I phoned him today about something random, and caught him in a very blue mood. He took a flier on giving up the corporate world to start an IT business with his wife, and basically it's gone down the tubes. Yesterday he sold his house, days before the bank foreclosed. Last week his wife walked out on him, taking one of their daughters. The older one refused to leave her dad. The church for which he did untold hours of free work has virtually ignored him. He is flattened, because he is a traditional Boerseun, to whom family and church were the pillars of life. And he's lost them along with business and house and financial well being. And as a white mid-40's male in South Africa, he is at the bottom of the hiring list. Maybe one of the people that's been chasing me will be willing to talk to him, I hope so.

So now, it's about time I worked on getting seriously wrecked, and take the meds, including the benzo's I begged for, and then maybe I can call an end to today.

Something has to break soon. Just not sure what, or how, or whether I get lucky and the break is fatal.

is it only tuesday

I feel like such a total bitch. Because the whole fucking world was already falling apart before. And my darling dog has become just another layer of pain.

I owe him more than that. I owe him a time of missing him and loving him and thanking him for his very special part in our lives. And I'm just not giving him what he deserves. The whole awful loss is just blurred into the rest of my whole awful, selfish being.

And poor Zac, as well. He's lost his longtime companion, and must be feeling devastatingly insecure. I'm trying to love him and fuss over him, and reassure him. But I think I'm just making him feel worse.

I honestly believe all my animals would be better off in other homes.

Whizzer, RIP

My big guy was euthanased at home this morning. He was happy to see the vet, and I think he was happy to go.

Just over 10 years. Not bad for a large breed.

I am numb, and dead inside.

bad thought for the day

I've been trying to do what rehab BossLady said, for Whiz. One of the things she said was 'Hold him in love, gratitude and joy, so that he doesn't have to process your fear and loss'. And a bit more about telling him mentally that he's going to die, but that for him it will be gentle and loving and painless, and that he'll move on to somewhere where he doesn't hurt.

I believe that things like this work, although I don't understand them fully. Then again I believe that aeroplanes can fly, and I don't fully understand that either. But I can see sometimes at work that the way BossLady thinks, and the feelings she transmits have an effect on the animals and birds she is working with. More than her excellent handling and medical skills can account for.

And she is definitely the person with the most meerkat contact, but has never been bitten - she says she telepathically tells them how great the punishment will be, and they back off. Even Twiggy the psychopathic bitch never tried to bite her. Considered it, but never tried.

But if Whiz can understand my good thoughts, how much of a burden have I been placing on him with the misery and negativity of the past couple of years? I've never not loved the animals,never not hugged them and been affectionate. But how much of my desperation have I unwittingly transmitted to him? And has his caring about me placed even more of a strain on his system?

If the good bits work, then the negative ones do too. And I am even more responsible for my dog's pain than I already am just by being his owner.

still is though...

Took mynah to have his orthopedic shoes replaced, and had long chat to GirlVet about the Big Dog. She has given me meds for him for the weekend, which will hopefully boost him enough so that we have a great time. Bosslady phoned to find out how he's doing, with lots of good advice about clearing my mind of all the bad thoughts about him dying, so that he knows it's OK, and that he is free to move on peacefully. I will try my best to be positive for him. To give him just a small amount of the love and care he has given me.

I know it doesn't help that I still feel so angry and hurt about the way NewVet acted yesterday. He phoned at lunchtime today, all chirpy, 'so when shall I come see Whiz'. All I could say is don't bother. Dr C phoned while I was with t-doc, left a message asking me to call and let her know how Whiz was doing. I called back, just to get an email address, and sent her a mail saying why I'm going to be changing vets. She's great. I've always liked and trusted her. And the animals do as well, which is more important. But I can't see myself walking in there and dealing with NewVet without prejudice about how he chose to handle this. His lack of care for my boy dog is worst of all. Because of the rehab work, I've dealt on a semi-professional level with him since he started at the practice, about bird care and treatment. Vets here get about 2 weeks of bird training in 7 years, so it's not being pretentious when I say that. I know zip about real vet things. But after 3 years I can assess a bird for basic injuries as well as most vets, I can strap wings and splint legs - only because I do it regularly. So yeah, there's a bit of hurt feelings here as well. That doesn't make me proud. It's mostly about my boy, though, and I don't know if I can forgive him for that.

That's future though. For now I just need to be there with all the love and mental support that the Big Guy needs to help him.

I saw t-doc and just cried. Not only about losing Whiz, but about everything else. I guess one thing about having to euthanase Whiz is that it's one less of my babies to decide about. I know that other people could give them good homes - better homes - but leaving them and not knowing that they'd be OK really worries me.

I am so apathetic and disorganised anyway that getting my life in order seems to get further away every day. I know it's really dumb, but I figure that if you are going to off yourself, it's obligatory to at least tidy up a bit. And I'm just drowning in doing that. Every time I achieve one task, I find that another ten have sprung up like weeds. Sometimes it's tempting to just go for it anyway, knowing that it would take someone competent about half a day to tidy up the loose ends it's taking me months to do.

wish it wasn't

Friday. Wish it wasn't this particular Friday.

No call from vet, not even to ask if Whiz died overnight, or whether he can even walk. Gave him another max dose of Rimadyl for breakfast, and he's come in and out a couple of times. Been working through the list of vets that I have dealt often with, from the rehab side. Long list of those I've seen once or twice, or fetched birds from, but only a few that I feel I can ask for a personal favour. Especially seeing as handing out pain meds of the quality I'm after to a patient they have never seen is probably illegal. First one is GirlVet at the bird practice, and I have to go there just now anyway, to have new orthopedic shoes made for the rickety mynah. Second is the meerkat-mom vet, who is more likely to have the right stuff, but I don't know if she would feel comfortable with giving it to me. Although, I have told her before over a small meerkat body that if ever I changed vets, she would be it, in spite of being miles away. And then there's PigeonVet, but it would have to come from her husband, and I don't really know him that well. Apart from the fact that he thinks I also have a screw or two loose to be looking after pigeons anyway.

Watching Whiz just now was enough to break my heart, and I think I am probably making the right decision. Just wish though that I could have a vet to decide it, as the expert. I don't think I will ever ask my local vet for anything, ever again. This one just feels like too much of a disappointment.

So the boys and I will spend as much of the weekend in close physical contact as possible. I will spend it in close physical contact with a vodka bottle as well. Somewhere in there is temporary oblivion, and I'd like to find it.

emotional bloodstains everywhere

My big guy is no better today. Went to our vet, where the months' expenditure so far is well over R3000. Between dogs, cats, food for dogs and cats, bird food, bird drugs, random extras - all of which I buy there because they are my local vet - the minimum is normally R1500. I probably pay for one of the half-day receptionists most months. I live 5 blocks away. When they call to say they have an injured bird, it takes me less than 3 mins to get there if I am home - and if I'm not, I twist my next nearest volunteer's arm half off to make her go there immediately. Dr C is off until tomorrow afternoon. New young vet is OK. Not great, but OK. So I explained that Big Dog had had a couple of really bad spells over the public holiday, and that I'd appreciate it if the new young vet (well, would have preferred Dr C, but...) could do a home visit. And that my anticipation was that it will be a couple of days of serious pain meds, just to give us the weekend before we looked at euthanasia on Monday. That I didn't want to put Big guy through the trauma of being picked up and carried to get him into the back of my bakkie, and I didn't think he'd be able to do it without being picked up. That I'd like a vet opinion without hurting him by transporting him, so that if the qualified opinion was euthanase, I could know that it was under the best circumstances. So young vet was going to come. No time specs or anything. Just whenever he could.

He didn't. I was off fetching a bird with a spinal injury, that I resent bitterly for taking me away from my dog. But I went, because someone had to. And the fucking vet got the poor receptionist to call and tell me he wasn't going to come. Fuck him. Fuck them. Fuck the whole practice. I wish I could say I will never go there again. But odds are I will, because Dr C is a good vet. And she loves my animals. Or at least she always has, in the 7 years I've been going there. I will probably HAVE to go there tomorrow, because I don't know if there are any pain meds that any of the other vets I know well enough to ask can or will give me, that I could give to him myself. I can do SQ, or IM, but nothing more. And I think he needs them. Not all the time, and not for long. Just enough so that him and me can spend the weekend loving each other and saying goodbye.

Ten minutes out of his lousy day. That's all it would have taken him. I wish I could make him understand what those ten minutes have done to my faith in him, and in the practice I have recommended to a thousand others.

The only other thing I did today was see p-doc. Told him it hurts, told him it's just getting too much.

There's nothing he can do though. No point in going to the p-ward he works in. All that is is two weeks of getting up early, seeing him, going outside. To the smoking area when I need coffee, at ten bucks a pop, otherwise to the back of the building site behind the hospital when I need people-free time. That's about most of the day. See him again for 5 mins, beg the staff for my meds so I can go to sleep. Pointless. Still kicking in the Nardil - only at 45mg so far, and upping the trimipramine tonight to 100mg. So can't go anywhere with meds. Can't go anywhere with anything.

**too much informaton....!

Hey, there was one funny thing from seeing p-doc today. And that was when he told me how DuckBuddy was doing. According to her he isn't supposed to know we've even met!
Post in the morning about that though - it deserves more irony and humour than I have in me tonight.

happy human rights day

...from a government who is slowly and steadily removing our human rights (all of us, regardless of race and income level). I have always found it rather sweet that they gave us a day upon which to reflect on our losses. Happy HR Day, Mr President. It will be a lot easier to protect your personal rights once your new R90 million security wall has been erected around your property.

I declared it a day for not putting clothes on, and for wandering vaguely around the house moving jobs from one pile to the next. In between feeding birds and animals.

And panicking. My big dog threw up twice this evening. He's been in a lot of pain all day, and for about an hour, just couldn't stand at all. Not sure if the recent ops have triggered the mast cell cancer, or whether it's time to look at what comes after the NSAIDs. Will see the vet tomorrow morning.

And p-doc. My normal delight in the appointment is being tempered by my knowledge that he will kak on me for going up faster than he said I could on the Nardil, and for Monday's drinking extravaganza. And cos I'm going to get there and just start crying. I'm enough, I'm tired, I just don't want to do this anymore. And I don't even believe the Nardil is going to be IT anymore. And I gave him my stash already. That was the stupidist thing of all.

oh my aching everything

The memory of today should be enough to put me off alcohol completely for a while. The meds might be a factor, but I haven't had a hangover this bad in a long long time. Then again, I haven't drunk as much in a long long time either. Or stayed up till 04h00 on a dozen different missions.

Cats and birds had me up early. I moved very slowly and carefully. I discovered that baby dove food does not smell good to a hungover person. I took my morning meds, including a jump to 3 Nardil, two days sooner than I am supposed to. P-doc is going to kill me. I managed to achieve very little apart from seeing t-doc, fetching another 3 doves, and feeding the whole gang at the right times.

A year ago, when we tried Parnate the first of the f-ing wonder drugs, I had the only sort of fight that I've ever had with p-doc. 70mg wasn't doing anything, good or bad, and I was begging about going up sooner than scheduled. He was in a bit of a grumpy mood, and didn't need more aggravation from me. He gave me the very firm look, and asked exactly how many hypertensive crises I had successfully managed.He regarded that as the end of discussion clincher. I said that how many I had managed was irrelevant - the actual question should be how many have I had, and the answer to that was zero. Needless to say, we didn't go up a dose any sooner than he had planned.

Part of it is tiredness. I'm far more of a 9 or 10 hours of sleep vegetable than anything else. But the rest is entirely vodka. Evil, evil beverage. I shall avoid it for all eternity. Or at least until tomorrow.

Goodnight from the sore and aching South...

so monday beats sunday

Well...in terms of stated objectives, at least.
I didn't get wasted on Sunday, and I didn't cut. Instead, I spent a trazillion hours looking up vet net stuff.

Today I took my ex-fiancee (and best friend) to meet my new motorbike. Someone had to do it with me, I was dying to show it off. He and I were engaged and living together for 9 years, and we've been best friends for about 15.

He loved my new bike, told it how sexy it is, and understood how Cowley exhausts, Michelin tyres and Showa shocks can influence a girl.

And then after that we went for lunch and got wasted wasted wasted.

Very close to home, to minimise driving. But it was lovely. In terms of short term relief, about the best for the year....

what we did on our weekend

1. Took meds to a sick pigeon yesterday. It was found in the road, probably hit by a car, showing signs of neurological damage. It will probably not recover. Should it be euthanased? In this case, mynah man says no. It's one of the ferals I homed with him, in a group which included 4 other "maybe" birds - as in, with time and a safe space, they may recover completely. Or they might be non-flyers. With this bird, mynah man and his partner are prepared to give it TLC and hand-feeding for life. I'm not sure, myself.
2. Fetched a little streaky canary, only to see him die within two hours.
3. Fetched a family of Egyptian Geese that had arrived on a small-holding. The people who lived there would have dearly loved to let them stay, but there are 6 dogs on the property, including 3 terriers. But they took the time (and lots of effort), and caught Dad and Mom, as well as the babies. Good prognosis there - the whole family will be rehomed tomorrow. Just need to find them a dam with no current goose inhabitants. And I'll probably end up having to transport them - worth it, though. 9 million bloody Egyptian geese rescued for one reason or another in the last three years, and I still love them. The babies are irresistible, sweet little brown and cream fluffies. It's the adults and the attitude that get me though - the places that they choose to nest, the determination with which they lead babies through the suburbs and across highways to water, the versatility with which they home themselves in shopping-centre fountains and urban swimming pools. And the knowledge that virtually every rescue where we don't succeed in capturing the parents as well is going to have a sequel next year where they do it all over again in the same stupid place. I have a sneaking suspicion that they might be using us - I can just picture Dad saying to Mom something like 'you know dear, they're cute kids and all, but they're kind of stopping us from having fun. We've had them for ten days now...why don't we get those nice people from the rehab centre to come take them, and then you and me can hit the town a bit?'
4. As I told myself 'no,no,no', I told the shift leader 'yes,yes,yes'. And ended up leaving the centre with 2 mousebirds, 7 baby doves ranging from an inch to about three inches long, and 2 Rameron pigeons. Unlike most Rammies, these are very gifted and are eating on their own already. But shift leader and I both think they are just too little to go into an aviary - they still have yellow fluff all over! So they can stay in my home-clinic for an extra week, until they look big enough to turf out.
5. Received a text message from Duck Buddy last night saying 'Goose, I miss you. Love me.'. I haven't replied. I can't. I want to. Just don't know what I want to say. 'Miss you too.' 'Your decision, live with it.' 'Good, hope it fucking hurts you as much as it hurt me.' I don't know. So for now I'm just doing nothing.
6. Bought a motorbike. This has been tempting me for a couple of months now, so not quite a total impulse thing. My mother is going to wring my neck. My nephew will probably hero-worship me. A bit of a dumb thing, given that between birds and beasts, I'm not going to be able to use it that often. And I'm also old enough that I won't go out on it if it looks like I'll get cold or wet. The salesman must have thought it was early bonus time though. I walked in, he says 'what can I do for you', I said 'sell me a motorbike, please'. He did. Took all of about ten minutes. Was thinking about a cheapie unknown brand 185cc, ended up with a 2nd-hand Suzuki Katana-homage series 400cc. Beautiful. Sexy. Not very fast, tops out at about 150 km/h. Fast enough. An invitation to hooliganism, cos it's got no power at low revs, so you are just about forced to wind it and drop the clutch. And it gives me another choice.... headfirst and helmetless into a concrete overpass.
7. Went for lunch and had 4 beers. Suspect I might continue the mission and see if I can get to fall-down drunk before I do some more direct physical damage of the razor blade kind. Not as totally asshole as it sounds - that was the first thing I wanted to do this morning, and I've delayed it for almost twelve hours now. Think this years almost complete abstinence so far might have reduced my capacity substantially though. Might even get to go to sleep without the zopimed helpers. Fuck. I am an asshole at the best of times. But some days I even put extra effort into it, don't I.

weekends: better or worse...

So I gave p-doc the stash on Thu. Wish I hadn't. At least that was as close to guaranteed as one can get. If one has stupid hangups about neatness etc.

And then we spent most of the appointment talking about random internet stuff. Such as all the arb debates and discussions I get involved in. When really, I figure, net-names should consist of two parts; one your nom-de-plume, the second a bit that says 'and i have no right to an opinion because i'm a totally unqualified asshole'. For me at least. Other people could have them reflecting their skills and knowledge. At least I give p-doc something to laugh at sometimes, with the weird info I come up with. Or as he put it, there's so much to learn out there and I manage to find all the things he'd rather I didn't learn about. Knowledge is good. Knowledge is bad. Guess it depends on what you do with it.

I was supposed to work a shift at the rehab centre today. Weaseled out of it again, with a semi-acceptable excuse. I offered to take a Grass Owl out to a bird sanctuary south-east of JHB by about an hour for release there, and by the time I left there, it was late enough that I could beg off going back to the centre. Mostly my fault. I've been there twice before, and both trips were made without knowing really where I was going, but I got there fairly easily. Today I was just not focusing, forgot to take the map book (and no, there is no good reason why it is on my desk instead of in the car), headed off with this vague thought that I went to one East Rand town, missed it and found a signpost to the place I wanted to go to.

Didn't work. I got onto the highway I wanted to be on, and then started waiting to see a turn-off that was the one I wanted even if I couldn't remember what it was called. It was only when I crossed the provincial border that I started accepting that that wasn't gonna happen. I had the cell number with me for the guy I was meeting, but was too embarrassed to phone him. So turned around, found a highway that went to another town I didn't want to be in, but which I figured was closer than where I was. Drove around that town a bit before finding a road that went sort of where I thought I should be. And then lucked out by being on the back road to the place I needed to be. Hey, I can excuse it by saying I was orientating the owl. If he ever flies 200 kms away from where I left him, he can also look around with this vague knowledge of having been there before even if he didn't know where he was.

So by the time I got back to JHB, it was late enough that I could beg off the shift, and come home to be an invisible fuck-up instead of an obvious one.

Guess the only halfway constructive thing is that I started the 'dead list' again - stuff that I need to do first. The last one was on the PC that got stolen last year, and being an asshole loser, I'd never backed it up. The saddest bit of that is that everything that I'd kind of accomplished needs doing again. Will - also on the previous PC and not backed up. Mail - needs opening. Bills - need paying. Desk - needs tidying. Same old same old same old shit.

more on meerkats

Hmmm....let's start off with saying I'm not any kind of expert. Most of what I know of meerkats is based on watching the past three years worth, as they have come into the rehab centre, have died or been killed, have become part of a tribe, socialised, hacked out and have been released.

In the past few years, and I blame 'The Lion King' for a lot of it, people have become fascinated with meerkats. It's led to some really good ongoing studies at a few locations in SA, some in-depth TV programs that don't, unfortunately, put enough emphasis on leaving them in the wild - and a plethora of pet meerkats, mostly called Timone. There are two routes into homes - the first, where meerkats are illegally bred and the pups are sold under-the-counter. (There is legislation against this, but the traders are currently using a couple of loopholes. NatureCon know who they are, but can't stop them). The second, even worse, is where tribes are burned out and burrows dug up in order to get to the babies. Generally the adults are killed. Very often, the babies are injured and killed accidentally. The survivors are then sold on the side of the road. Same with tortoises. It's a tough choice - do people ignore the current victims, in order to discourage the trade? Or by rescuing (buying) the babies, do you then encourage further attacks? In any country with attractive wildlife and disadvantaged people, it's a double edged sword.

So...you now have a pet meerkat. Apart from it being illegal to keep it without a permit (and while NatureCon have problems tackling the trade, they will have no difficulty at all in getting a conviction against individual owners as and when they find them), you now start learning about your new baby and his habits. Meerkats are tribe animals. In the wild, their lives depend on being part of a tribe, and on having a recognised position in that tribe. They are never alone. Ever. As pups, they will have up to 5 siblings (it appears that litters in captivity are often bigger than in the wild, where 2 or 3 pups are more common - a response to reliable food sources??), they will be with mom, and they also have a number of babysitters.

Meerkat tribes are hierarchical. The alpha male and alpha female will generally be the only breeding pair, and have been known to kill pups born to other females. The non-dominant meerkats fill a number of positions. The females are generally baby-sitters, although this role is sometimes filled by submissive males. Older males often take positions as watchmen, and there will always be at least one on duty. The roles are rotated, to allow everyone time to forage, including mom. As the babies mature, each pup will generally follow a particular adult, who then teaches them about meerkat life. It's really endearing, to see the pups in the few weeks where they are being weaned and taught to forage - they will literally be allowed to take food out of their 'teacher's mouth. Limited period only, though!

Your little pet needs the same kind of attention. 24/7. A meerkat is never alone. There are people who manage this, and arrange their lives around never leaving the meerkat. Most don't, and after the first few times where little Timone trashes the house because he is stressed and panicking, he starts getting put in a cage outside for a lot of his time. Even when you are with him, the house takes a lot of strain. Meerkats dig. Uncontrollably. Their instinct is to look under/behind/between everything, in case there's a nice juicy grub or scorpion. Even the most well-adapted pets do this. So say goodbye to skirting boards, tile grout, (tiles as well, if they are light enough to be lifted), fridge door seals, cupboard frames....and don't forget the keys on your PC keyboard. An efficient meerkat can get every one off and destroyed in less than 6 minutes. You won't have house plants. And the couch? Who knows what can be found in that!

OK, living in a destruction zone might be manageable. But then sexual maturity arrives, and as an adult, your meerie has to defend his tribe. That's you, and maybe your family. So it starts with biting your dog. Then it's your visitors. Often, it's the children, and in some cases your spouse as well. He's defending you, it's part of his job in life.

And the cute little pet you bought arrives at our rehab centre. His whole reason for being is shattered - he loses his tribe, and his place in it. When a pet meerkat comes in, we often keep them in the clinic, just so that they at least have company. We try not to cuddle them too much, but at the same time, they really need the attention. Depending on the time of year, we almost always have a 'tribe-in-construction'. If a new arrival is healthy, and is not totally dependent on canned food or people food or popcorn (yeah....), we will try to place him in a tribe immediately. Ideally, each tribe should have a very clearly dominant male and female, and a number of both sex who are submissive, both older and younger. Each placement of a new meerkat is thus an individual decision, mostly made by our centre manager, depending on the age, sex and personality-type of the new arrival. It's not infallible. There are always fights - we are still learning new ways to get a newbie into a group without too much blood. Lavender oil works well - when everybody smells like a bordello, it can reduce picking on the stranger. Somebody has to submit - if that's not a clearcut decision, there will be ongoing warfare. To the death. We have had meerkats killed by the tribe, more often than we would like. We have ended up with 6 separate cages, each with too few to make a viable tribe, but none that we could merge due to the dynamics. We have ended up with serious injuries, so that we have to pull a particular animal from his group. Some of this is due to the captivity - in the wild, the loser would be able to stay on the outskirts of the tribe until he was accepted in his new lower-status position. In an enclosure, there is nowhere for him to go to. I've spent an afternoon trying to introduce two meerkats, with two of us in the enclosure, where we watch the fight (ongoing, under things, over things, through our legs....), and break it up when it gets too vicious. Sometimes the only way to get them off each other is to take a tail each, and pour water over the biting bits until they eventually let go. Check the injuries, and let them at it again. Someone has to submit. Mostly, it happens.

This year, we ended up with the 'Nuns'. The group started with one male - older, neutered, canines extracted. We were dubious about his release, but as long as he had a position, it was worth trying. The next few arrivals were all females, all young, all aggressive. No clear alpha female emerged, but the nucleus was holding reasonably. We still needed a breeding male, though, before it could be considered a viable tribe. Somehow, the male broke his leg, probably in a tunnelling accident (the leading cause of meerkat death in the wild, apart from predators), and he had to be pulled out for medical care. So far so good, but then the females wouldn't have him back, and attacked him so viciously that we had to remove him permanently. He lucked out in finding a new tribe though. A very young male came in. Often youngsters will have an easier time being absorbed into a tribe - not this time. It appeared as if they would take him, but 6 hours later they ganged up and attacked him so badly that he had to have most of his tail amputated. Another male. Another rejection. And that was the start of the Nuns...a very cohesive, close-knit group of 5 females. They were released last month, piggybacked onto a larger tribe, with the hope that in the wild they would gradually be absorbed - we'll find out in the future whether this has happened.

Generally a tribe should be at least six or seven strong, with a good mix of sexes, ages and characters. If they breed while with us, this is normally a great way to further cement the tribe, as they all pull together in raising the young. Once there is a clearly cohesive group, we won't often add newcomers, unless they are still very young. Mostly by this time, your pet wouldn't even acknowledge you if you went in - he has a real family. Actually, mostly what happens then is that almost everyone who goes in will be bitten. Humans have become a threat, and while no-one enjoys the bites - which can be really nasty, as meerkats hang on and tear at the flesh - it's also a good sign for release.

This year we had 3 groups (and the nuns), one of which has gone into a filmed release program. They are still being hacked out, at a private nature reserve. The others were released at reserve based around a large dam, about 6 hours from JHB. Each group had an assigned escort, who released them from their new, enclosed burrows at daybreak, took them foraging, monitored their skills and responses etc. A tribe that doesn't realise that raptors are a threat, that doesn't post sentries, that doesn't forage effectively is not releasable. By midday, it was so hot that everyone including the monitors looked for a shady hideaway. More foraging in the late afternoon, and then back to the safe burrow, where, to start off with, they received additional food. As their skills increased, the amount of food given was reduced, until they are self-supporting. After three or four weeks, both tribes were independent. Previously released groups have all survived, albeit with the loss of some members. Although they aren't continually monitored, they have been seen regularly.

Meerkats have a huge territory, which, while not entirely exclusive, they will defend. They have a number of burrow systems, and migrate from one to the next, as they deplete the food sources in an area. There are often 'border skirmishes' between tribes, and these can result in tribes being absorbed by another, or in outcasts being thrown out to survive as a reduced tribe. I don't know of any indepth studies on the viability of a pet-based tribe when it comes in contact with a wild-born group, but I'd guess that our tribes can hold their own. In our first release program, which was a 3 month hacking out period on the edge of the desert, the alpha female had to be euthanased halfway through the project. Some of the casualties before release are as a result of a captivity induced psychoses, where the animal literally becomes completely unhinged. In this case, although we knew that Twiggy was a danger to any human she met, and we were concerned about how she would act in the wild, we were still optimistic about releasing her. Sadly, she become so violent, and so detached from reality, that her behaviour actually became a danger to the group, because she prevented them from foraging. Another one of the older males disappeared along with the juvenile he was teaching. Although they aren't identifiable by name anymore and there have been losses and additions, the tribe is still in existence. They are close to a research project, and have been seen by the students involved there.

So....more meerkat info than most people want! It's hard to convince people that meerkats aren't good pets, especially as there are always a handful who are very happy, well loved and cared for, and who never do anything untoward. I have been told by someone who brought a bird to the centre, of her gran on a farm in the Free State, who rescued a meerkat baby from a veld fire. She raised it in the farmhouse, where there were always dogs, cats, kids and a variety of baby livestock that was being hand-reared for one reason or another. No cages, no closed doors, ever. At maturity, she disappeared for a while, and they thought they had seen her with the wild group on the farm. A few months later, she reappeared with a litter of pups, moved into the house with them, took advantage of free and easy food to get them to juvenile status and then took them back out to live in the wild. She came back every year after that with her offspring, and after few weeks of comfort, went back to the wild group. An unconfirmed tale, but one which does support the theory that sometimes the interaction between man and meerkat can be good for both.

enough already

Ah shit...for everything there is an unequal and unfair reaction. Yesterday was almost OK, mostly because of intellectual curiosity about Num-lady. So today, in spite of actually accomplishing about 4 of the things on the should-have-been-done-last-month list, I'm just bottoming out again.

I lied on Sunday. I don't want to give the meds stash to p-doc. I want to just suck them down and give up on all this crap. There's just no point.

Two f-cking years. And no idea of when or why or how it ever quits. No reason for it to start. No reason for it to continue. So I guess there's no reason for it to go away again either.

P-doc's oh so cheerful lady called today, for about the first time in a month. Not bad, seeing as I'm still on his shit list that she is supposed to call most days. She asks whether the meds are working yet. I say no. She asks (bear in mind that she is calling from his waiting room, and yells at the top of her voice, so everyone there gets to listen to it all as well....) 'well, what does Dr say about this, what does he think the reason is for the drugs not working'. I can't answer that. If he knew or I knew, we'd f-cking change something, wouldn't we? Not just arse around for this long. So I said that he thinks I'm maybe not quite human. That got her in hysterics, yelling and gurgling with laughter about aliens and why didn't I paint my face green the next time I came in, ho ho ho!

Maybe she has the right idea though. She's a real git, but she manages to laugh all day. For someone who phones depressed people , she certainly doesn't let any of it get to her. Maybe that is her real function, to be a 'good example' - if only she wasn't such a pain in the neck about it.

I keep the meds in the fridge, along with all the bird drugs. Often I just hold them, feel the chill. Wish I had the balls to just do it.

meerkat magic

Some of the meerkat (suricata suricatta) photos from the rehab centre - for Michael in Australia...


Some of the babies born at the centre



First dig in free earth - release Feb 07



Hacking out site - a safe den in an old aardvark burrow! Feb 07



A full belly, morning sun, two wives - a contented meerkat...



The Nuns from Hell - these 5 meerkat females saw off every male we tried to introduce, and were eventually released in a 'granny flat' with one of the other groups. Their aggression prompted one of the less charitable of the volunteers to be overheard saying "thats it. no more bitten boys. if they never get laid again it's their own damn fault!" Said volunteer was bleeding profusely at the time...



This miserable looking lad had led his group in a successful dig-out from their enclosure - a feat that required a tunnel 3 foot deep and over 6 foot long, camouflaged at the entrance by rocks, and exiting under a tree. First thing he did was race off to one of the other groups and pick a fight through the mesh. His left arm had severe bites, the right was broken by his sparring partner and had to be splinted for over a month.



- ownership of all pics is held by the rehab centre.

wow. what numbers can tell!

I went to see a numerologist/alternative therapy lady today, at Girlshrink's suggestion. She figured that given the current lack of response to conventional things, it couldn't hurt. Well, today's bit didn't - not sure about the next bit that I signed up for.

She had no advance info at all, seeing as t-doc got her name from a friend of hers, so she couldn't have found out anything that way. I gave her no info at all. Visual clues - I was wearing standard denims and tshirt with standard lack of make-up. My feet are calloused from walking barefoot, so she could have noticed that. I'm fat - she couldn't not notice that. Oh yeah, and I had a baby barbet with me who still needs 30 min feeds. Other than that...nothing.

She phrased most of her statements in definite terms, without waiting for a reaction, but trying to be tactful some of the time. I can't think of one thing that she said in the two hours I was there that wasn't entirely accurate. OK, her opinion of me doesn't quite match up with my opinion of me - it was a lot nicer than I really am. But the things she said are very much the same as the things that other people that I respect have said. Including t-doc who should know by now what a nasty piece of shit I actually am.

But wow! How does she know from my mother's date of birth that Ma is skinny, elegant, perfectionist, looks 20 years younger than she is? What made her say that my Dad will never stop working because he loves it? How did she know they are moving house? And my sister and family - she summarised them perfectly, even some physical characteristics.

I hadn't said more than pleasantries when she asked straight out about depression and suicidality. OK, the self-mutilation is visible, but most people think first off that the forearm bit is a cat scratch. She didn't.

She also did a tarot reading, which also seemed to come up with much of the same info that she already had. Note to self - go read up on tarot and meanings of cards. All round though, I was stunned by how accurate she was.

So, given that she specifically said that she would be happy to chat to t-doc if she wanted (didn't offer the same for p-doc, but then again, I really can't see him being interested), and that she had no intention of interfering with existing therapies, she suggested first of all that I try to start meditating again. I tried the bio-feedback StressEraser thing last year, which is aiming to semi-scientifisise (??) the physical responses to meditation into doing it without the word ever being mentioned. Didn't do much for me, but part of that was my totally apathy and inability to focus on something that isn't a complete distraction (i.e. I can research strange crap on the net for hours, but can't remember mostly what happened two pages ago in the current novel). I mentioned TM, which did help quite a bit when I was in my teens - she reckons that's a good one, because it's quick and can be done anywhere where there's a comfortable floor and a bit of quiet. She also offered a 5 week course of unpacking therapy - that's going to be the not so comfortable bit. I guess I am sort of aware of a few of the bits that would get unpacked - and maybe examining them and dealing with them will stop them influencing my current life. Because I know that some of them do. Not so much in direct terms, but in some of the ways that I have never gone back to certain parts of me. Some of them have come out with Girlshrink, but more as anecdotal stuff, and I've avoided it becoming any more. Because dammit, the reason it got put away is because it still hurts. And applying logic or hindsight or even just common sense doesn't make any difference.

Or does it? She specifically said that I can pull out after the first session if I really want to, but after that, no chickening out - that it's important to complete the course. Which I interpret as 'is going to hurt like hell, and am going to have to dig it all out' - she says that a lot of what is stopping me from achieving anything much (and if I'm honest, has done for a long time now) has to be dealt with in order to take up the new opportunities she sees in the cards.

Don't know about new opportunities. I'd like it if I could get to a place where I don't stuff up everything I ever do. Would be nice if I could find some kind of BF as well. Mostly I am alone but not lonely. Mostly. The last few months I am combining intense loneliness with a simultaneous reduction in the people I see or communicate with. I am isolating myself in a very empty castle tower. And it happens whether I want it or not. As in Duckling Buddy dumping me. No, it wasn't a good friendship in many ways. It was a lot of hard work for me coping with some of her paranoia and suspicion. But it was also a very honest relationship - the only person I really opened up for who doesn't get paid for enduring it. Then again - maybe the payment just wasn't a financial one, but taken in more subtle ways. Either way, it ended.

Sometimes I think this blog has become a strange friendship thing. I read a few people's blogs, genuinely care about what they say, and appreciate their comments on mine occasionally. But blogbuddies don't keep you warm in the middle of the dark night either....

And sometimes I'd really like that to happen again.

Ah hell. Sometimes I am just more of a thickheaded asshole than I already am generally. Loser, loser, loser. And a nasty one at that.

Bedtime.

PS the last little finch died today while I was at t-doc. He was doing great. And then he was doing dead. No idea why. 3/3 dead. And second little mousebird died last night. Maybe I am doing more damage by caring for them than if they stayed at work.

things to do on a sunday

1. Not actually speak to anyone at all except dogs, cats and birds

2. Not get dressed at all (it's still summer here...)

3. Ignore appropriate mealtimes and substances in favour of everything in the fridge that I won't be able to eat or drink tomorrow when I start the whole MAOI diet again, along with the superdrug Nardil. So cheese, bacon and banana toasties with a beer for breakfast (well...it was already 11h00, and I had been up since 07h30 feeding babies!), Swiss chocolate and salami for snacks, and have just OD'd on the cheesiest ricotta & spinach tortellini drenched in cheese-carbonara sauce with extra pecorino grated over it. At least the MAOI diet ends up being healthy because I eat mostly fruit.

4. Decide absolutely and definitely that I will give p-doc the meds collection on Thurs. If I haven't used it by then. Not the first time I have decided that, but somehow I end up changing my mind. I have to give it up though - not because of any admirable reasons, but because I have this vague feeling of it being unethical on my part to misuse stuff I've weaseled away from his scripts.

5. Smoke way too much. Like two packs at least. And given that I am about to start on the brandy, probably be more than that.

6. Worry all day about little mousebird. Analyse every poop for quantity and consistency. Probably drive him to an early death by incessantly checking on him.

7. Rip another few dozen CD's to the PC, so that I can continue my mission of creating good mixes to either listen to in the car or off myself to.

8. Limit thinking of suicide to no more than once every five minutes. Such restraint...

9. Not cut my arm, even though it would feel so, so calming. Consider other parts of my large and visible (given my nekkidness...) anatomy, and discard idea - have tried a few bits now and again and found them lacking - don't ask me to explain that one.

10. Think of ex-boyfriend, whose birthday it would be tomorrow, if he hadn't been murdered. Just another crime statistic for our revered jack-ass Thabo Mbeki to ignore. There was an article yesterday on what the police in SA spend on private security - most of which is allocated to guarding police property. I kid you not. We pay for private security companies to guard police stations. Doesn't seem to stop case reports from growing little feet and walking. Recent figure quoted is about R5000 for a murder docket. Robbery, hijacking, rape are a bit less. R100-million - it is a huge amount...if they spent that money on actually doing something about crime... shit. There was also a report on a survey asking responses to statements like 'I worry about violence and crime'. What a surprise - about 75% across all racial and economic groups answered yes. Ah hell....Les, wish you still had the chance to answer that question. Instead of being shot in your sleep for a few beers and less than R500. And, like most crimes against average citizens, minimal investigation, no arrests, no convictions.
Miss ya, babes.

comparative speech

Spoken word count for the day : 8 to some arbitrary wrong number (I presume) who phoned. A few hundred to the beasts in residence.

Littlest mousebird died today. Deep down I knew he probably would, he was just too small for anyone except mom to raise. Statistically it shouldn't surprise me, or upset me. But it does. Every time. Other babies are all doing well, although mynah with the rickets does not appreciate the orthopedic shoes he has on. It's hard to explain to a bird about dietary deficencies, when all he sees is that he can't perch on a ladder like his buddies can. *** Note to self - read up on personification of animals as an indicator of social disorders....

Dinah over at Shrink Rap posted on 'Things I wish I knew' today. Including a bit on whether to continue to treat patients who continue to do things that are bad for them. Really scared me, that. I smoke, I am obese, don't do any excercise. Haven't done any illegal drugs for more than 5 years, but probably would if they were offered to me - hey all the offeror would have to say is 'wanna be happy?' and I'd be doing them in a flash. Don't socialise much. Much is a shortened form of 'only when my family makes me', as I don't really see anyone else anymore other than at the rehab centre - my IT work is mostly done from home, and if I have to go into the office, I normally arrange it for weekends. And DuckBuddy dumped me, and that was my only other regular face-to face kind of social contact. I haven't had casual sex in a long while, haven't actually had sex at all since my sort of boyfriend was murdered. Two and a half years ago.

I guess the top three on my bad-person list are that I compulsively hoard excess meds in case I need them to OD when I give up. And I drink, although this year I have made a very concerted attempt at not drinking at all, and on the few times I have slipped, it has been more like 4 single vodka and coke lites than the previous excess. P-doc still marvels at the answer to 'what is the most you have drunk in one session', when I had to confess to about an 8 hour evening that included 17 double vodka's. Only reason I know that is cos it was on the bill. And no, I spent the following day with my head under a pillow feeling so not well. But even on my own at home, I was going through a bottle every two days. Now I don't even have a bottle at home. And number three is that I self-injure. Used to be only the left bicep, since being in hospital last year where I ran out of left bicep and did the left foream, it's mainly been both.

If seeing him for treatment would be conditional on stopping most of the self-damaging things, I can only think that it would be more likely to stop on a self-terminating kind of thing. I couldn't bear to fail him. Even more than I already do. I don't think t-doc would impose those kind of terms. She is too empathetic, and even with being ten years younger than me, she is maternal in a lot of ways. I hope she wouldn't. If p-doc did that though, and didn't give partial points for trying... I'd end up dead.

Oh what a cheerful, happy (and sober) train of thought on a Saturday night...