Oh, my God, things suck.
It is a Litany of Suckdom. Slow, life-sucking suckdom. This is The Purple
Most of it you know about already (broke, dying mom, car accident/insurance/repair shit, crushing ennui), but to put the frilly cap on the ghoulishly bald head of a freakishly shitty couple of months, over the weekend, I lost two pets.
Not one. No. That
would have been bad enough.Two.
Rhadamanthys, a cape gopher snake, and Chen Fu-Jen Wu Nu, one of my pair of beloved Elaphe carinata
, or stinking goddess snakes.We don't even know what was wrong.
Rhaddy had been unwell for a long time, and no amount of worming or temperature adjusting had helped . . . so his passing did not come as much of a surprise.
Lady Chen, though . . . that's horriffic. She had been perfectly healthy, and though she'd refused food a little, recently, she hadn't lost weight or been regurgitating, so I assumed it was just her occasional finicky nature making life difficult. I had absolutely no idea that she was apparently very
To make things worse, it looks as though several of our other snakes are sick with whatever it was that Rhadamanthys and (maybe) Lady Chen had.
So, on top of everything else, we have some sort of herpetological hot zone breeding in our snake room. Buliwyf, Leviathan, Zyni, Shabako, Baba Yaga, Anath, Baal, and possibly Ankhy and Azrael all need to be screened and quarantined.
So now I'm standing in front of an endless mountain of parasite screenings, worming paste, and trips to the vet, not to mention the bills. And we still have to feed them all, which means ordering frodents next month at the very latest, because we're already low.
I'm in so much pain about it that I'm just numb. I can't even cry for my kids, not even when I buried their cold little bodies yesterday. I feel, deep down, that it's my fault, you see. I haven't had time or strength to keep up with feeding them, they haven't been cared for very well.
Now, it's entirely possible that nothing I could have done would have helped. I won't know until I know what killed them. But that doesn't stop me from feeling so guilty I can barely stand to look at the ones who are still alive, let alone do the necessary maintenance on their cages. This isn't good for anyone.
I want out. I want out from under this mountain of exercise, cooking, cleaning, writing, dancing, that I have to do every day. I want a week where I can do nothing, without having to pay for it by coming back to a mess that will stress me out so badly to clean up that it will render the break meaningless.
The sad part is that it isn't even that difficult. I do amazingly little from day to day. But even getting out of bed is hard, especially when there are days, like today, where I can honestly predict the rest of my day from hour to hour and know that there is nothing, not one thing, that I am looking forward to.
Sargon is also not well. Job stress and home stress are causing him nasty physical symptoms that I can't prevent or alleviate. And anytime I need to vent or go to him for comfort, it just makes him worse, so I'm denied that release, too. I have to just sit in my corner and stay quiet and try not to set him off.
He's "getting help" for it, by which I mean he has found his insurance card, but has stalled calling anyone for a month. I'd ride his ass about it, but I don't have the strength anymore. I just can't hold his hand this time. He has to do it himself.
To make things even worse, out of nowhere and for no real reason, I have pain in my right ankle whenever I put weight on it. It's not severe, yet
, but I can't go up on relevé on that side at all, which means that, unless it goes away by tonight (which I admit it might), I may as well not bother with class, because Khalil, the dance we're working tonight, is so fast it all has to be done on the toes. The way it is now, this ankle definitely won't stand up to an hour of relevé. Not if I want to be walking tomorrow.
And I still
have to do my weight-bearing exercises today. I don't know if I can do the lower-body stuff with my ankle all twingeing. I can do upper body and abdominals, I guess, but if this lasts more than a couple of days, I am screwed. I have a performance on Saturday.
So, a lame ankle on top of dead pets, horrible, crushing guilt, and an uncooperative, sick husband. Oh, yeah. And Bush is still "president," despite the fact that I think he may have lost this election, too.
I will be shocked if I even get out of bed tomorrow.
My poor babies. I just don't understand what happened. I feel so helpless. If I couldn't stop it from happening to them, how can I stop it from happening to the others? I failed. They're dead because I didn't do enough, because I didn't convince the man with the money and the car to do enough.
I'm tired of watching people and things around me get sick, go wrong. My mom, my husband, my pets, my fucking country
. They aren't well.
Yes, it's probably just PMS talking. I should probably take some happy-pills or something. I can, after all, choose
not to suffer, as so many people are so fond of pointing out. I can just feel whatever I have to feel and move on, or something. Yeah. See how easy that is? Or, better yet, I can put it all into a box and forget about it. Because people only want you to have good feelings. Anything else is bad and should be hidden, covered up.
But no amount of forced smiling and popping Wellbutrin is going to change the fact that my life, itself, is sick. Something is not right
, or I wouldn't feel this way so often.
I'm going to go try to write, though my word count is creeping down towards shite. I only wrote about 1,000 words all weekend (oh, yeah, and I'm pissed about that, too). If I can get a couple thousand words of pulpy adventure in, this day will be redeemed.
Edit: Insult to injury -- the ONLY CD I want to listen to apparently wandered off with my husband when he went to work.