When I was a little girl, I had a "monster" bell. The bell would ring if there were monsters in the room. I remember jumping far over the edge of the bed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night in case monsters were under my bed. I would then jump from the doorway back into bed to avoid the monsters under the bed. I think, in general, nightmares are about powerlessness. As a kid you are powerless against monsters or ghosts or skeletons or being left alone at the zoo.
My adult nightmares are also about powerlessness, but since they're all things that COULD happen, they get that much worse. Last night/this morning I had a dream that Michelle's kids died. Like the 3 of us adults watched it happen, but while she and her husband were part of the scene, I was more like Scrooge and just observing the scene. I couldn't help the kids I couldn't help her and her husband. I couldn't reach out and save one of the kids. I just had to watch it happen. Another recent dream was that my mom was in the hospital with a heart attack and was on the brink of death. But nobody would let me in to the hospital. Nobody would tell me what was going on, I just knew it in my bones that was happening. I think I had another one about Kate (in Vt not Katey) and her husband Dave dying. Before Vlad died my nightmares were more about despair and hopelessness but manifesting itself in different ways. I was in a hospice dying all alone. I was homeless. My sister had disappeared and I couldn't find her. Now it is all death all the time and all I can do is watch as the people I love die and not support the survivors.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure this out. I'm hanging on to so much guilt that I need to let go. I know in my head I did the right thing for me at the right time. Vlad was an alcoholic. He owed me money. I loaned him a computer he never returned. I helped him move after he'd been evicted TWICE for non-payment of rent. He became more and more aggressive when he drank and I would get so embarrassed by his behavior. He lost jobs. The jobs he began to take were all in bars where he could then drink for free. I couldn't be around that anymore. I get, in my head, that backing away from our friendship was right. Hopefully someday my heart will agree.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Monday, March 05, 2012
Taking Back Sundays
For the longest time Sunday was my favorite day of the week. I'm a morning person and since Sundays are lazy days for a lot of people (or church days for others) I could get up, do my laundry and run my errands in the morning leaving me the afternoons free to do Sunday Adventures! In some respects, that hasn't changed for me here in Texas. I'm still an early riser. Since I have a washer & dryer in my apartment I don't have to fight the laundry room crowd so I don't always do my laundry on Sundays. I get up and go to brunch or breakfast and then (currently) spend the afternoon in my practicum or else working on homework.
The hard thing about Sundays is that there was always a cloud hanging over my head. Sundays meant going to work on Monday and goodness knows I didn't want to do that. The amount I dreaded work increased throughout Sunday until Sunday night when I would have a hard time sleeping. With my new job, at least currently, I don't dread Sundays. This past Sunday I got up early, went to breakfast and then went shopping before my practicum at 1:00. It was nice. I had forgotten how much I love Sundays. The only down side to Sundays in Texas is that a lot of stores don't open until later than I'd like. But a minor issue and once my practicum is over, I'll get to play again.
The hard thing about Sundays is that there was always a cloud hanging over my head. Sundays meant going to work on Monday and goodness knows I didn't want to do that. The amount I dreaded work increased throughout Sunday until Sunday night when I would have a hard time sleeping. With my new job, at least currently, I don't dread Sundays. This past Sunday I got up early, went to breakfast and then went shopping before my practicum at 1:00. It was nice. I had forgotten how much I love Sundays. The only down side to Sundays in Texas is that a lot of stores don't open until later than I'd like. But a minor issue and once my practicum is over, I'll get to play again.
Friday, March 02, 2012
On Dying & Pets
My parents have 2 cats. Max and something else. Sweetums I think. They are LONG haired cats because my mother loves Persian cats. Sweetums is old, I think. Max is not so old maybe 3. My parents are OLD (75 & 70). It dawned on me recently that the odds are good one or more of the cats will outlive them. Since my nephew, who kind of liked Max I think, lives with Satan right now he wouldn't be able to take them. That leaves them to my sister or I or one each. The reason I got Sam was because he's a short haired cat. Many of my friends are cat allergic and while a cat is still a cat, short hair is easier on them than long hair. They can tolerate the short hair for a longer period of time. It is a sort of compromise without really being one. Also I hate Persian cat coats because they require intensive maintenance. I brush Sam when his fur is shedding into my face a lot, but I never have to worry about him looking like a psychotic ball of mats.
A couple of tweeps suggested ASPCA or euthanasia. Neither is really an option. We have a long and somewhat weird history with pets. Growing up we always had cats and dogs. All of our pets were strays acquired either from shelters or somehow through my older sister. Especially from my older sister who would acquire them and then be living in a place that wouldn't let her have them. I have no idea where Charlie (cat named after Charlie Bucket from Willy Wonka) or Keffie (daschund) came from (I believe they moved from PA with us when I was 4ish). Mouse (a dachapoo) came from my sister. We went to the animal shelter when I was age something (like 6 or 7) and I got to adopt Midnight (black cat obviously). Boogack (another black cat I think my sister named it and it may have had another realer name before that one which if I think about it hard enough the original name may have actually been "Black cat") also came from a shelter. Nick (another daschund) came via my sister. Smokey (gray cat awesome but a hugeass bitch) sister. Sebastian I adopted from the shelter via my mother who was there for some random reason. We had to put Seb down maybe 2 years later tops for feline leukemia. For a brief time we had TJ Waterbuffalo (a sheepdog who went to live on one of my sisters' friends' ranches he was just way too big for our little house and yard) and he came from my sister natch. There was Groucho who had been a neighbor's cat but decided she liked us better. (And the neighbor's grandmother with whom they were living was just fine with that solution). For awhile when my sister lived with us again her manx cat Jamie lived with us too. Jamie she always kept with her. I'm sure I may be forgetting a few. Oh after I left and was a grown up they acquired Ming (shih tzu) from when my grandmother died. And how could I forget the one that started her Persian obsession... I want to say his name was Buddy. He was gray. I think he came via my sister. He also, at one point in his life, got into a battle with a neighbor cat that he almost lost and got his throat ripped open. Or maybe that was Smokey. (Seriously the gray and the black cats run together after awhile). I also think there was a second Buddy in there, Max is kind of white but she had a tan Persian for awhile too. Champagne puddles (also Persian cat) I think also came via my sister (although I could be wrong about that one).
All in all, growing up we had a lot of pets most of whom were cast off and rejects from other places. Smokey had been a feral cat out at a trailer park where my sister lived for a time. How my sister decided we needed him I'll never know, but I liked Smokey even though she intially pretty much hated people. I was the only one who could flip her on her back and pet her chest while cradling her like a baby. My father always thought that was brave of me. It was drilled into me that you don't give up the pets. It isn't their fault if you are a fuck up. Now, as an adult I can definitely see the gray areas in pet ownership. If a pet is dangerous to to the family or other people, that's a problem. Having been attacked by someone's pet dog more than once (once requiring 9 stitches and had it been a little higher my girlie bits would be a lot different), I'll never say that all pets should be kept at all times by all people. And while I don't believe necessarily in "dangerous" breeds, I do know that some animals, due to inbreeding or just the way their mutt genes combine, don't turn out quite right. Champagne puddles (registered name Champagne Bubbles) was an awful cat. She never came out from under the bed, unless it was to pee on the bed. She peed on it once with my father in it asleep. They had to keep a shower curtain on the bed because of her. And yet, as my father pointed out, it wasn't her fault she was batshit crazy. Since she wasn't a danger to anyone, she got to live. We never, as I recall, had any dangerous dogs. The worst was probably Smokey who we mostly let have her own way until she got used to us. She was hostile, but not aggressive.
When my sister died in 2002, she behind more than just 2 kids. She and the kids had pets. The horses were actually already willed to people so that was taken care of. (And it was a good thing since Satan wanted to sell them out from under the rightful owners). I believe my nephew's dog had already died by that point. I know Jamie had passed by then. So that left a ferret named Slinky, a lunatic Australian Shepherd named Robin and my niece's cat Sugar. When I found out my sister died, one of the first things I said to my parents was make sure you take the ferret. I knew Satan wouldn't want him and wanted to make sure Slinky lived out the end of his life content. I offered to take him but they decided to hold on to him. So this left Robin and Sugar. As I understand it, Satan offered my 12ish year old niece a choice. She could keep Robin, her mother's dog, or Sugar, her cat. He then had Robin put down. To be remotely fair (not really) Robin was pretty old. Sugar was very young. He then left Sugar at the empty house until one of the rightful horse owners picked her up and brought her back to live with my parents.
In any event, the only way pets left the family, with the exception of TJ, is via their own death. Either we had them put to sleep after they were too sick and it was too cruel to make them live anymore or they died on their own somewhere in the house. I remember Charlie died under their bed. Midnight had to be put down due to Feline Leukemia. It happened while I was on vacation in Japan and I was heartbroken. The cats were all indoor/outdoor cats. They could come and go as they pleased and I feel fairly certain one of them became hawk food right out of our back yard.
I don't know what this will mean for Max and Sweetums. Sam HATES other cats and makes Max's life miserable whenever my parents drive through on their way to Florida. Of course he'd eventually get over it and/or Sweetums would knock Sam silly with her still clawed paws and that would be the end of that. But (Along with a house that would make the people on hoarders see dollar signs in terms of how much money we would have to pay them to take care of it all) they are something me (or my sister) will have to figure out when the time comes. I suppose it would be unkind of me to say to my mother "You can't get any more cats because you are old and I don't want to end up with them." But I kind of want to.
A couple of tweeps suggested ASPCA or euthanasia. Neither is really an option. We have a long and somewhat weird history with pets. Growing up we always had cats and dogs. All of our pets were strays acquired either from shelters or somehow through my older sister. Especially from my older sister who would acquire them and then be living in a place that wouldn't let her have them. I have no idea where Charlie (cat named after Charlie Bucket from Willy Wonka) or Keffie (daschund) came from (I believe they moved from PA with us when I was 4ish). Mouse (a dachapoo) came from my sister. We went to the animal shelter when I was age something (like 6 or 7) and I got to adopt Midnight (black cat obviously). Boogack (another black cat I think my sister named it and it may have had another realer name before that one which if I think about it hard enough the original name may have actually been "Black cat") also came from a shelter. Nick (another daschund) came via my sister. Smokey (gray cat awesome but a hugeass bitch) sister. Sebastian I adopted from the shelter via my mother who was there for some random reason. We had to put Seb down maybe 2 years later tops for feline leukemia. For a brief time we had TJ Waterbuffalo (a sheepdog who went to live on one of my sisters' friends' ranches he was just way too big for our little house and yard) and he came from my sister natch. There was Groucho who had been a neighbor's cat but decided she liked us better. (And the neighbor's grandmother with whom they were living was just fine with that solution). For awhile when my sister lived with us again her manx cat Jamie lived with us too. Jamie she always kept with her. I'm sure I may be forgetting a few. Oh after I left and was a grown up they acquired Ming (shih tzu) from when my grandmother died. And how could I forget the one that started her Persian obsession... I want to say his name was Buddy. He was gray. I think he came via my sister. He also, at one point in his life, got into a battle with a neighbor cat that he almost lost and got his throat ripped open. Or maybe that was Smokey. (Seriously the gray and the black cats run together after awhile). I also think there was a second Buddy in there, Max is kind of white but she had a tan Persian for awhile too. Champagne puddles (also Persian cat) I think also came via my sister (although I could be wrong about that one).
All in all, growing up we had a lot of pets most of whom were cast off and rejects from other places. Smokey had been a feral cat out at a trailer park where my sister lived for a time. How my sister decided we needed him I'll never know, but I liked Smokey even though she intially pretty much hated people. I was the only one who could flip her on her back and pet her chest while cradling her like a baby. My father always thought that was brave of me. It was drilled into me that you don't give up the pets. It isn't their fault if you are a fuck up. Now, as an adult I can definitely see the gray areas in pet ownership. If a pet is dangerous to to the family or other people, that's a problem. Having been attacked by someone's pet dog more than once (once requiring 9 stitches and had it been a little higher my girlie bits would be a lot different), I'll never say that all pets should be kept at all times by all people. And while I don't believe necessarily in "dangerous" breeds, I do know that some animals, due to inbreeding or just the way their mutt genes combine, don't turn out quite right. Champagne puddles (registered name Champagne Bubbles) was an awful cat. She never came out from under the bed, unless it was to pee on the bed. She peed on it once with my father in it asleep. They had to keep a shower curtain on the bed because of her. And yet, as my father pointed out, it wasn't her fault she was batshit crazy. Since she wasn't a danger to anyone, she got to live. We never, as I recall, had any dangerous dogs. The worst was probably Smokey who we mostly let have her own way until she got used to us. She was hostile, but not aggressive.
When my sister died in 2002, she behind more than just 2 kids. She and the kids had pets. The horses were actually already willed to people so that was taken care of. (And it was a good thing since Satan wanted to sell them out from under the rightful owners). I believe my nephew's dog had already died by that point. I know Jamie had passed by then. So that left a ferret named Slinky, a lunatic Australian Shepherd named Robin and my niece's cat Sugar. When I found out my sister died, one of the first things I said to my parents was make sure you take the ferret. I knew Satan wouldn't want him and wanted to make sure Slinky lived out the end of his life content. I offered to take him but they decided to hold on to him. So this left Robin and Sugar. As I understand it, Satan offered my 12ish year old niece a choice. She could keep Robin, her mother's dog, or Sugar, her cat. He then had Robin put down. To be remotely fair (not really) Robin was pretty old. Sugar was very young. He then left Sugar at the empty house until one of the rightful horse owners picked her up and brought her back to live with my parents.
In any event, the only way pets left the family, with the exception of TJ, is via their own death. Either we had them put to sleep after they were too sick and it was too cruel to make them live anymore or they died on their own somewhere in the house. I remember Charlie died under their bed. Midnight had to be put down due to Feline Leukemia. It happened while I was on vacation in Japan and I was heartbroken. The cats were all indoor/outdoor cats. They could come and go as they pleased and I feel fairly certain one of them became hawk food right out of our back yard.
I don't know what this will mean for Max and Sweetums. Sam HATES other cats and makes Max's life miserable whenever my parents drive through on their way to Florida. Of course he'd eventually get over it and/or Sweetums would knock Sam silly with her still clawed paws and that would be the end of that. But (Along with a house that would make the people on hoarders see dollar signs in terms of how much money we would have to pay them to take care of it all) they are something me (or my sister) will have to figure out when the time comes. I suppose it would be unkind of me to say to my mother "You can't get any more cats because you are old and I don't want to end up with them." But I kind of want to.
Thursday, March 01, 2012
New Job!
For those not following along at home, I quit my evil, horrible, made me sad, I can't work for this psycho bitch anymore job. Surprisingly while I worked out my notice, I actually got offered another job. I originally was only taking a week off between jobs, but evil boss decided she didn't want me there when she was gone, so I ended up leaving early from that job (and getting paid out). My baby sister and I went to DC which none of us have ever been to. We packed as much as we possibly could into our 4 days. It was AWESOME! And I have pictures I have to pull off the camera eventually.
I started the new job on Monday. So far it is good, but beginning a new job is exhausting. I was so tired yesterday, Wednesday, I fell asleep at 6:30. Woke up long enough to watch Revenge via the DVR (at 10) and then went back to bed. My new boss has really just started me right away on projects, which I appreciate. The downfall is that I have zero cell reception in my office.
I started the new job on Monday. So far it is good, but beginning a new job is exhausting. I was so tired yesterday, Wednesday, I fell asleep at 6:30. Woke up long enough to watch Revenge via the DVR (at 10) and then went back to bed. My new boss has really just started me right away on projects, which I appreciate. The downfall is that I have zero cell reception in my office.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)