At least he doesn't smell

My cat?  Kinda has it made.  Food regularly delivered to a location only he can access (namely, away from the pig dogs).  Run of an old house with lots of hiding places to inspect.  Two dogs and a Monkey to harass with his kick ass Kung Fu moves.  I even let him sleep pretty much anywhere he wants, be it on the couch (rarely), in Monkey's bed (when she's not in it), my bed, the coffee table (yes, this is actually a favorite post of his), or even in the kitchen window sill (when it's open).  He even takes over the dog bed when the mood strikes him.


In general, I leave him alone, he leaves me alone.  Which is what made him an appealing as a pet in the first place .  Not *him* specifically, but cats in general.  Neediness freaks me out, and cats?  They do not hesitate to let you know that they don't need you in their lives, and any indication other wise is a damn lie.  This system works for us.  Yes, there is occasionally snuggling, petting, playing.  But it's generally always on his terms.  Rarely do I seek him out for a cuddle buddy.  It's not like he's neglected.  I always punch holes in the boxes I lock him in as punishment.

So why is it, that in the dark of night, as I am laying down to go to sleep, in those few precious silent moments I get to enjoy prior to drifting off into sleepy land, does that ass hat of a cat feel he needs to jump onto my bed, curl himself into a deceptively warm fuzzy ball of happiness, and begin to lick himself clean OVER EVERY SQUARE INCH OF HIS BODY?

Have you ever heard a cat clean itself?  It's not the quietest thing ever.  That sand paper tongue running against the grain of a thousand little cat hairs in the dark of night somehow has the decibel equivalency of shattering concrete with a jack hammer.  And he chews his nails.  HE CHEWS HIS NAILS.  What...who....WHY?

I'm not a fan of listening to animals clean themselves.  I make the dogs do it in the other room.  It's gross.  Especially when they clean  It's...well....I'm not going to get into a lot of detail here.  It's too gross, and gives me the heeby-jeebies.  There are some things even *I* won't describe in detail.  But you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

There are 23 and a half other hours in the day he could have taken care of his personal hygiene.  Why must he do it at that EXACT moment?  On my bed?  Next to my EAR?  EVERY.  SINGLE.  BLASTED.  NIGHT.

He keeps it up and I'll stop punching air holes in the damn boxes.    


I pretty much hate everyone.

I don't...forgive well.  I can hold a grudge like a champ.  And no, I'm not listing my good qualities.  I know these suck, and I should stop it.  But you know what?  That's easier said than done when you're a hermit.  Because all I have are my thoughts all the time non stop.  And when you are swimming through a depression, the likes of which haven't been seen in a long time, those thoughts?  Not necessarily rainbows and kitties.  Even in the good times, I'm not a rainbows and kitties type of gal.

So forgiveness?  Yeah, I struggle with it.  There's a lot of things in my life that I turn to God for, but asking for the strength to be able to forgive others?  I'm more than a little soft in that area.

But this?  I can totally get into this:

Some things really do never change

It's been about 4 years now.  And since the separation, almost five.  You would think that, by now, either something would have changed or I would have caught on that this is the kind of behavior I can expect all. The freaking. Time.

But no.  Like banging my head against a concrete wall.  Just ONCE I'd like a padded cell instead.

Here's the scenario:

I emailed the ex to let him know that The Monkey has been scheduled for hearing and vision screenings.  When the vision folk called me, they asked all kinds of questions about her insurance, whether or not this is covered, does she have this kind of plan, blah blah blah.  Questions that I don't have the answer to (that is a *whole* other story, one that I am far too tired to get into at the moment), nor could I obtain them on my own.  So we (the vision folk and I) decided that we would go ahead and set the appointment, with the understanding that I would get the answers to the questions and take the appropriate actions.

And we're back to the email to the ex.  I asked him, in the email, to provide me with answers to the questions.  A day or so later, I received a response.  That answered no questions I had asked.  Oh sure, there were answers, but to my questions?  Nope.

I emailed him again, making my questions more specific, and asking for clarification on the information he provided.  And his response?  Again, not. answering. my. questions.  More information?  Yes.  Answers to my questions.  Nope.

After taking a day or so finding my chi and taking cleansing breaths, I finally emailed him back TELLING him exactly what I needed him to do.

Why didn't I do that from the beginning?  Well, because I thought it would be rude.  And also?  I'm not his mother, baby-sitter, or wife.  I should not have to break it down for him in a manner a three year old would understand and then order him to comply.

Annnnnd this is where that first paragraph really comes into play.  I should have really learned by now.

So I did.  I told him exactly what I needed.  I told him exactly what I expected.  And I told him exactly when I needed it by.

His response?  No closer to the beginning than I was when I started writing this.  In fact, his answers were geared towards a belief that if he made this hard enough on me, maybe I would just skip the appointments all together.  Since, after all, there is nothing wrong with The Monkey.  Ever.  At any point in time.  Just like all the other times there was nothing wrong with her.  Oh, well....except for that time with the gall stones.  And the acid reflux.  And the genetic disorder.  And the developmental delays.  And the behavioral issues.

But those times totally don't count.

I *guess* I can understand his point of view.  After so many times of being right about it all, odds should be in his favor this time?  There actually *IS* nothing wrong with her?  Right?  That's how Vegas works, why not his daughter.

Her appointment is in two days.  This afternoon, I completely gave up on letting the ex "participate" (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....ahem....) that I took matters into my own hands.  And I got the resolution I needed.  Sure, I had to make some pretty serious threats to a large insurance company, used made up curse words to really confuse them, and it took about 4 hours of my time, but hey!  I'm an unemployed single mother!  I APPARENTLY HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD.

The question I'm asking myself now is this:

In the future, do I just handle business and let him know how it all turned out after?
Do I continue to try to get him involved even though I know without a doubt that it is only going to end in confusion and ticked-off-edness?

Gah.  Exes.  Can't live with 'em, still illegal to shoot 'em.  I would know.  I check regularly.



I'm pretty sure that's not a word, but whatever.  It's late, I'm the only one reading this, and you're not the boss of me.

It's been several weeks now.  With the insomnia.  Ever since things got rocky at work.  Well that's vague as hell.  Since things got REALLY rocky at work.  Not the usual rockiness of my boss being about as stable as the tectonic plates surrounding Japan.  A new kind that I was familiarly unfamiliar with.  I'd seen it happen to others, but it was never displayed towards me.  Until several weeks ago.

Familiarly unfamiliar.  That sounds like a legit phrase until you type it, read what you have typed, and then you feel like you have lost your damn mind and swallowed your tongue.  But I digress.

Rocky at work, and the stress began.  Worrying about what this meant, and what that action could mean, and why would she say that, and all the while, do they know that I know?

Losing that job wasn't stressful.  At all.  Being in that job was stressful.  Working with *those* people was stressful.  The stress came from the potential unemployment.  Now the realized unemployment.  Sure, I've been unemployed before, but never with so much on the line.  I look back and think, I should have saved more, I should NOT have purchased that, etc blah.  Shoulda, woulda, coulda.  Bottom line?  DIDN'T.

I have insomnia because I don't want to go to sleep.  Because I survived today.  I know I survived today.  And if I go to sleep, then tomorrow comes.  And I don't know that I can survive what tomorrow brings.

Isn't that just about the stupidest thing you've ever heard?  Rationally, I know that whether or not I go to bed, tomorrow is coming with all it's ugly surprises and invasive expectations.  Irrationally, I convince myself that by staying up all night stalking people on facebook and their blogs and craigslist (oh my holy hell I can kill some time on craigslist) and news websites and the list goes on and on (however, if you have suggestions, I will totally take them) then I won't have to face whatever tomorrow brings.

Yes, I realize that tomorrow might be wonderful, and that I might get the job of my dreams that, oh by the way, pays me the paycheck of my dreams.  Or I find a lottery ticket that just so happens to have the mega-gazillions winning number on it (and yes, find, not buy.  I may not have saved up for this, but I'm sure as hell bunkering down now).  But when your pessimism has brutally raped and killed your optimism, leaving it for dead on the side of the road to be eaten by vultures and hungry hitch-hikers, it's hard to see that silver lining.

So I stay awake until I'm forced to bed.  Keeping my defeated self entertained with Hulu or the dumb crap people accidentally text to others.  Subliminally terrified that the one time today I laughed might be the last time I get to do that since tomorrow is going to be more brutal that I can stand.

So you know....there's *that*.


Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn

I'm not sure what I'm doing on here.

Not just because of the time frame.  I mean, that's an awkward silence in and of itself.  Hi, remember me?  Yeah, me neither.

I've moved.  It's been so long since I've written here I'm not sure if I wrote that I was going to.  But I have.  And here I am.  In a new home, in a new state, a new decade, and newly unemployed.  I've picked up some new habits, dropped some old ones.  It's like a whole new me.

And honestly?  I kind of hate that bitch.

It's almost like I'm back to my post-divorce life and mental state.  Everything up in the air, forging new boundaries, making a new path.  I did it before, I know I can do it again.

But....why?  To what purpose?  What was wrong with the way things were?  Why did I all of a sudden have this overwhelming need to make drastic changes?

The insomnia is back.  Clearly.

I feel like when I posted before, it was because things happened in my life.  That I actually had one of those.  Topics from life's little cherries or apples or lemons or whatever the hell fruit makes you happy.  Now?  Well...who honestly wants to hear me ramble on and on about the *AWESOME* time I made in that game of Solitaire this afternoon?

Not.  Even.  Me.

So maybe this is me trying to pick my world back up.  Create my own reality horseshit.  Fake it 'til you make it.

Meh.  I should have written about running.