The Deep Dark

Hi.

I know, yet another apology for not being a good blogger. Can I even really call myself a blogger? Once upon a time maybe, but not now.

I've been down in the dumps. Feeling very much like a zombie. I've been on the verge of tears for about a month now but nothing comes out. Granted, it's not a constant state of depression, I can actually laugh and have a good time (especially when my niece and nephew are around) but it only seems to make the Deep Dark even more oppressing once the fun times are over.

I worry that this one will never go away. I've been sleeping a lot. My house is a mess, I'm starting to realize just how quickly out of hand things can get and why/how people become hoarders. I keep making these grand plans that "This weekend will be the one!" where I roll up my sleeves and get everything spotless. Then I wake up, look at the cat hair floating in every corner, the dishes piled stinky in the sink and just don't know where to start so I give up after 15 minutes and "take a break" in the form of a two hour nap.

Well that's me in a mini update.

Thanks for stopping by.

Let it go.

I had a confrontation with a family member this week. It was heated, absurd, and a longtime coming. I'd been backing down and letting things go as "not important enough" to make a big deal over. Then something was brought up that I had thought we'd worked out months ago and I knew that it had never been worked out to begin with. And I got pissed.

I don't really do angry. At least not directed at anyone but myself. I'm a pro at being mad at myself. Like I could make millions if it were a professional sport. But back to the point, I got mad at this person, furious in about 2 seconds. Heart pounding, body shaking, tidal waves of rage mixed with overwhelming sadness that our relationship would probably never recover from.

Here it is four days later and the anger is long gone. In it's place is a sad peace. Peace because I know I didn't do anything wrong. OK, there may still be a tiny bit of frustrated hurt because she threw down the "I'm a mother" card as if that trumped any argument I might make.

For now, I'm moving on. It's been hard to not pick up the phone and attempt a reconciliation, I'm not good at letting animosity fester if I can do anything about it. The fact is, if the other person refuses to believe me when I am speaking truthfully there's not much else that can be done. I'm getting to be OK with that.

How much?

A few months ago when I had to make the decision to let my little Echo go it just about killed me. I felt as if I'd failed him. Over the last few years, when I felt as if my life was falling apart, I always made sure that I had my three fur-children taken care of first. I could always go grocery shopping at mom & dad's if things got really desperate. But my "kids" were completely dependent on me.

Shortly after Echo died, Oscar began acting pretty strangely and refusing to eat food he'd always eaten. I figured it was his way of dealing with the loss of his best friend. As long as he was eating, drinking, and using his litterbox properly; I didn't worry overmuch.

But then Oscar stopped eating all together. I tried tempting him with the expensive canned food and tuna. Nothing. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. So off to the vet we went. The last place I'd held my sweet Echo. Oscar had been there before. He's usually pretty calm and happy. The first time the doctor saw him she commented of how relaxed and friendly he was.

Not this time.

He was a hissing, swatting, bundle of fury. Even I wasn't able to avoid a scratch. I ended up having to leave him there for the day so they could sedate and examine him. It turned out he had a pretty gnarly rotted tooth that according to the doctor, "practically fell out" upon examination. I was relieved it was something so simple. I should have known nothing is ever that easy.

That all happened a little over a week ago. Since then at least once a day I've stumbled upon a pile of half to not-at-all digested canned food. I figured he was just being a pig. He was keeping in more than he was expelling so I made a mental note of it and kept moving.

Wouldn't you know it? This weekend he started throwing up every single time he ate. I'm freaking out! His last visit cost me a couple hundred dollars, I didn't budget for the fist visit and sure as heck don't have the funds for another. Not only that but if he does have something terrible wrong how much can I afford/justify to spend? Will they let me establish a payment plan? What is my limit on how far I should go to fix him?

I hate this. He was my only friend when I moved home after college and there were many times he curled up next to me as I cried over the disaster that had become my life. He was the only thing that kept me from taking the ultimate escape on at least one occasion. I knew that no one would care about him as much as I did.


Oscar has really gotten the shaft the last few years. Buster, my dog, doesn't like him and the only time Oscar and I get any quality time is when Buster is outside or I lock him in another room. It's not fair. I have to do better.

Being a responsible adult sucks. 

Wow I kinda suck.

So much for getting back into blogging. It went almost as well as my attempt at vegetarianism. Yes, that is McMuffin you smell on my breath. Why do you ask?

Lucky for me blogs are free.

Here I go again, again. Join me will you?