November 27th, 2014

2013, cyd, new

Dodged a bullet there.

I thought watching the parade, as I have done every year since I was born, would get me in the xmas spirit. But then Tony Danza started singing and I put my headphones on and turned to the laptop.

We named the new cat. Her name is Boomer. Yes, from Battlestar Galactica. Yes, we are nerds. We let her out to explore the house. Teeny followed her at a respectable distance. Then she went into my room and found Simon's super secret hiding place under a giant Pooh Bear in my closet. I let her stay there for about a half an hour and then went in and got her and put her back in the quarantine room so she could relax. She is very stressed out by Chewy, who is all about her. New cat = new potential friend. I had to put him outside while she was out.

I'm not depressed. I'm just not feeling the holiday spirit. I should be setting up my tree right now.

I am baking pumpkin pies. One for me and one for N and his family. Plus Doc got a Chocolate Silk pie for us. I have to make room in the fridge for that.

S is home for the holiday weekend. We're afraid he might want to borrow the big-ass truck, it used to be his, after all. But Doc is concerned that he will get deserted somewhere in it, with the whole transmission thing going on. Hopefully Doc will at least get to hang out with him. I think it's been a year since they've hung out.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it. Aside from the pies, I'm not. Doc has to work all night. He's asleep now. He took his sleeper at 9:30, hours earlier than usual. I guess he wants to spend part of the evening with me before he goes to work, or wants to spend time with N before work. Probably the latter.

Do you know, that even after the stress and adrenaline pumping adventure we had yesterday, he actually told me he had fun on our outing? You know, without the fear aspect. And he is so in love with Boomer. And she likes him better than me. This morning when he got home and woke me up, I went into the quarantine room to see her and she was hiding in the cabinets in that room (no dangerous chemicals in those cabinets, just pet and first aid supplies) and she wouldn't come out for me, she just sat there and meowed. Then Doc opened the door and said something to me, and the moment she heard his deep, soothing voice, she came right out of the cabinet. So I left them to their love fest.

I did go in about an hour later and talked her out of the cabinet and she came to me and marked me all up with the scent glands in her face. She is so pretty. She has this chubby little pot belly. And she lets me scratch it as long as she is standing up. She is three years old. She was surrendered to the shelter by her owner, who said they had too many. She has mild gum disease, but is clear on FIV and Feline Lukemia. She has been in a cage since early October. I think that's why she's so skittish. She's so used to closed in spaces, she doesn't know what to do with our large open living/dining area and our equally spacious kitchen. And having Teeny stalking her had to have been disconcerting. When I let her out tonight, I will close off all of the bedrooms so she has to deal with the living areas.

My happiest Thanksgiving was when I was in college with Kelli. Her parents had just told her I was a bad influence and they didn't want me around her anymore when the holiday came up and our college closed the dorms. My parents lived right up the street, but they left a message on my machine that they were leaving town and to have a happy holiday while they were gone. They knew the dorms closed. And they deserted me. Kelli took one for the team and called her parents and explained that I had no place to stay over the holiday and what my parents had done to me, and they invited me to stay with them, which couldn't have been easy. But I went, and they fell in love with me, and Kelli and I could still be friends. So my happiest Turkey Day wasn't even with my own family. As I recall, they also had me over for xmas that year, too.

So, there's my obligatory holiday anecdote. I really wish Kelli was here.

Doc has some drama going on in his life that I won't talk about, but if you are the sort to pray or send blessings, would you keep a thought out for him? He could really use it. He's at the breaking point taking care of me, and this added stuff is not helping him at all. And in all of this, we're trying to coordinate Kelli coming out here next year to take care of me while he goes to visit his parents. And I'm trying not to make it all about me. Trying to understand that I am turning the lives of two other people upside down, and try to see where they are coming from and going through.

The last few months have shown me how "disabled" I am. How utterly helpless. Because I've been trying to be better, but it isn't working. I am the same spaz, no matter what I try. I forget things, all the time. And not because I ignore things. And not because I am flighty. I just forget things. One thing I have improved is accepting that when Doc reminds me of something, he isn't patronizing me, he is helping me. He is not playing some passive aggressive game like my parents did. That took a lot of reprogramming, and I still slip up sometimes and get snarky with him, like a petulant teen.

Basically, I quit maturing emotionally around 15 when this illness hit me full force. That's why I still dress like a teenage tomboy. That's what I see myself as. Though I am more body conscious than I was at 15. I was too wrapped up in my illness as a teen to be body conscious. Just trying to stay alive day by day was enough without the pressures of all of that crap. I experimented with makeup, that was a fail. I couldn't wear foundation because my skin would peel when I applied it to my face. I was big on black eyeliner, but it was the 80's, so was everyone, even the boys.

My mom was really fashion forward, shopping at Laura Ashley and the Limited. Buying herself designer clothes and taking me to the thrift store. I gave up on fashion early and went for the tshirts and jeans. That's what I'm wearing right now. Bought at the thrift store. I'm glad now that she didn't try to dress me up in all that nonsense. But at the time I found it very unfair. She was too fat for most of the stuff she bought and it just hung in her closet, and she wouldn't let me borrow it. Last time I was at her house she still had all of that stuff, now woefully out of style. For when she gets thin. She hasn't seen thin since 1973. She's only kidding herself. I myself have a pile in the top of my closet of "thin" clothes, but I usually get to wear them a few months out of every year, since my weight fluctuates with the medications.

She and my dad asked me 14 years ago when I got here how I stayed so thin, considering the genetics I was burdened with. I looked at them and deadpanned, "Speed". They actually believed me. I could have been honest and said, "I'm not a fucking glutton," but, the reaction to the other answer was more precious. I love shocking them because they are gullible and will believe anything. Basically because they will lie about anything. And they are mormon.

I am displeased with my play list experience today. Too much sad. I may plug in the secondary hard drive and fire up some xmas carols.

Oh, Ministry, that's better. I can live with that. Dodged a bullet there.
2013, cyd, new

My tweets

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2013, cyd, new

Happy Turkey Day

I get the distinct impression that Boomer has spent more than just two months in a cage. I'm really thinking she came from a hoarding situation. There was one in the news around the time she entered the shelter. She's in the quarantine room and I shut the doors to all the other rooms of the house and opened her door. She didn't run for the door. In fact, she kind of shrunk back from the gaping openness of it.

She met Major with hisses, and Teeny with growls. Chewy, she snuggled. Go figure.

I found "Rattatoulie" on the TV. So I'm happy. I've got a pumpkin pie to dig into. And I'm hoping Boomer will put in an appearance at some point.

I have to find my senior yearbook. I have GOT to know who this guy from high school on Facebook is. He seems very familiar with me, never fears to challenge me. So, either he knew me well enough to break through my hard candy shell, or didn't know me at all but made some unfortunate assumptions about me and my hard candy shell. And since I have absolutely no memory of his name, either I fucked him or I didn't know him. Either way, he wasn't important to me. I would fuck anyone in high school and college. Well . . . never mind, I don't want to get into it. It's a holiday, be merry!

I decided that it's okay if I'm not in the xmas spirit. I've been really wound up in the whole Mike Brown murder thing, thinking about my brother and sister and really internalizing it to an unhealthy point. I have to let go of that before I can get down to a Marshmallow World with Jingle Bells. I've got this medium sized, super dense ball of rage in my chest thinking about the times my white sister told me about my parents using the police's inherent racism (scary cops, Henderson cops, I've mentioned them before) as a weapon against my black siblings. Thinking about how racist my parents and their church were, and how White Privilege slapped the kids around at every turn.

Now my brother hates me. And my sister is dead. And I am isolated from the world, only letting it in voluntarily. And I let it in too far. I'm lucky that I don't get trolled on twitter. and I can't call what the guy on FB does trolling. He actually engages me in thoughtful, if passive aggressive dialog. So it's all me. I'm doing myself harm. So, I've really got to stop that because survival. Like I said a couple of weeks ago, the meds can't do it all. I've been reading research that tells me the scientists and pharma companies have no goddamn clue how or why the drugs I'm taking work. That's encouraging. I really wish we could perfect the justice system so we could run scientific tests on the really really guilty. You know, instead of our soldiers. We know nothing about the mind. It is keeping all of its secrets from us, like a game.

I am not shopping tomorrow. But that means very little in the greater scheme of things. I never shop. Unless you count online shopping. I do that occasionally. But I don't go out to the shops. Unless it's to adopt a cat and break down on the freeway and have ten minutes of terror. For that I will make an exception. As we saw yesterday.

We have to call maintenance in, and this time it's going to be sloppy. We have a utility box or something in the ground out back and it's been full of water and overflowing (it's like a marsh around it, a scary oasis in the desert of our yard). We really didn't know how much until we got this month's water bill. $75. It's usually $25. For two and a half years, it's been $25. Something is definitely wrong. I'm not even going to email this one in. I'm just going to call and talk to them because it's kind of hard to describe, I've just found. They're not as bright as you guys.

Man, I hope no one of import ever puts my real name to Cydniey Buffers. If they were really into doing the research and making assumptions, some people could get really pissed off. People who have shared tweets that I have shared have been d0xd, but never me. Follow the money, it leads back to Doc. All of it, mine and his. All of my business and money is in his name. Basically, I don't really exist. I am just a name that is connected to a number since birth. Those two things don't really equal a person. On the other hand, I am just a name with lots of photographic evidence that could have been faked. The two identities collided on FB for three years. Long enough to get in contact with people I missed, a Saudi prince, and a cousin I didn't know I had. Once that was done, I ditched the legal name from that account also. I would change it legally, but that would fuck everything all up.

You know what I want to know? Why don't I get trolled on twitter? I seem to be The Only One. I'm not kidding. Everyone on my TL is at one time or another responding to trolls, and I get silence. I've also gained like, 100 followers in the past three weeks (that's really fast for me, it took 5 years to get the first 500), yet none of them reply, retweet, or star my tweets. I really want to know why. I see people having conversations on twitter all the time, but it is rare for someone to converse with me. And I'm constantly trying to address what they are saying and engage. I retweet a lot. No one reciprocates. It's really frustrating. According to the articles I read, I'm doing everything right on the damn tweeter, but I remain invisible to all but a couple of people. Maybe everyone is lying. Hmmmm.