i call her Rat. because that's what she is. a mouse sized, young rat. brought to me injured this morning by evie. one leg works. and she can't lift her head. but she can eat and drink and with my help, go to the bathroom. (a little secret i learned when my nana fostered ocelots for the oakland zoo, you get a warm wet washcloth and softly brush it over the genitals, this is what mother's do with their tongues when the rats/cats/pups are too young to go by themselves). i fed her some cheese and gave her some kibble. i feed her water every two hours. i have to hold her over the bowl so she can dip her head in it. i'm not getting attached to this one. i'm attached to this one. i can't help it. i know she's going to die, or i'm going to have to take care of her for a while. but it's no secret i have a soft spot for rats. they are three after cats and dogs. they may even be ahead of dogs, except for my dog. and she is the cutest. for a field rat. i wonder where evie found her. i really hope we don't have field rats.
and in the nest of recovery outside is a freshly watered injured dove. she's not badly injured. she's in shock right now. so i picked her up and put her safe in the nest until she gets her head together enough to fly away.
other than that, not a lot is happening. doc fixed the fence today, much to the consternation of chewy. so i got to spend all day outside with chewy in the back yard.
SNL really sucks any more. i guess it has sucked for a while, but i'm watching it right now and i'm not impressed. maybe i'm too old for it. it seemed funnier when i was younger. but then, so did letterman, and i think he's the one that's changed. now he's just an ornery old man.
okay, now i'm just rambling. and to be honest, the ball of my left hand and the touchpad aren't getting along which is making this difficult.
have a good night.
i'm listening to Kosheen to try to improve my mood.
doc gave me this big lecture on how he was going to get things done today and not be lazy. i just went out to ask him if we could go to storage (i'm getting desperate for something to read) real quick before the monsoon moves in. he had three hundred excuses, ending with, "i'm going to sleep". so much for getting things done. fucker.
"if you were in my heart
i'd surely not break you
if you were in my heart
then my love would take you
i'd keep you in safety
forever protect you
i'll hide you away from
the world you rejected"
i'm just generally mad at doc. every tie i leave this room, he hassles me about something. meds, food, sugar, mood, rocking. why am i getting worse, he wants to know. he won't do any research on the subject, he just wants me to come up with the answers, which he won't believe anyway. that, along with a couple things that have happened lately have me thinking about leaving him. but i'm going to try to stay in the house. i'm just going to spend a lot more time in my room. with the laptop. the network cable doesn't reach, but i can deal with that. just go into the hallway and hook up to download or upload. i figure if i avoid him, i won't do anything drastic. i've never felt this malice against another human being that was so close to me. usually when i get to this point, the target is long gone.
then he tells me he wants to invite B over and can i camp out in my room. i'm not happy about it, this is my house too. but i do it. set up camp in here . . . then he tells me he's not inviting B over.
FUCKING MAKE UP MY MIND
i think i'll light some incense. maybe i'll hook up the tv and stereo. if i do that, maybe doc will get off his ass and have the cable company come and fix what is broken and has been for a year, and hook up cable in my room. i have this huge tv and it is just sitting there, waiting for some love. and i have a stereo to hook up so i can listen to CDs. and maybe the radio. i haven't listened to the radio for years. i'm kind of curious what the kids are listening to these days.
then doc comes in and talks to me like everything is normal. nothing is further from the truth.
he says i got crazier when i went off the seroquel. he wants me to go back on the seroquel. it made me sleep all day and get fat, i'm not going back on it. so now it's all about, don't rock back and forth and don't shake my legs STOP IT. all i do is to frustrate him. it has nothing to do with me. it's all about him and the malice i supposedly have. i leave coffee grounds in the sink, it's to make his life difficult. and doing something by accident is the same as doing it on purpose to him. there is no forgiveness.
stop it i'm trying to talk to you and you're giving me vertigo
why do you rock, you never used to rock
how much sugar have you had today
have you eaten what what time
did you take your day meds?
go take more valium
get away from me
i don't try to make his life more difficult. but there's always something wrong. if i did this, then i didn't do this. and he takes advantage of my bad memory, always telling me after the fact that he told me to do something differently than i did it. changing and making things up to make himself look good. look good to who? to me? he's just this guy i live with and used to fuck when it was convenient. now i can't stand to look at him most of the time and when i can, he does something to piss me off. funny how the roles have reversed.
he the next in a long line of people who don't see the good in me. they just see the bad. this has made me think i must be a bad person. so be it. he just notices the mistakes i make. it's like living with my mom. i'm afraid all the time. walking on eggshells. i did all this stuff around the house the past few days, and all he has to say is that i didn't change the litter box. thank you for negating all i did. thank you for making me not want to do it anymore. what's the fucking difference?
what's the fucking difference? i'm fucked if i do and fucked if i don't. i will always get yelled at.
am i always going to have to be answering to someone else? am i always going to be the child to random "adults" who will question everything i do? i don't want to live this life.
and then there's the part where they finally give in and hurt me. and that is my fault, too. so i'm meant to believe. and what happens if i do believe that? do i have to then believe that it was all my fault, each time . . .
i don't want to live this life.