March 22nd, 2015

2013, cyd, new

Sunday morning, ultimately

Another weekend in purgatory. My solution is sleeping every time I get irritated. I'm kind of stuck right now for what to do, I just woke up, and yet I have been irritated. So I'm not sure what to do.

The next morning. . . .

I'm up and he isn't. So I guess I could call this alone-time. Though he's asleep on the couch across from me. So I have to be really quiet. He keeps waking up and being grumpy every time I sneeze or cough. I've got allergies out the yang, coughing is just something that I must do now. He knows, he's suffering from allergies even worse than me.

I don't think I said more than a dozen words to him last night. I asked him if I could show him a picture. I didn't tell him of what because I never do. It's kind of a test in trust. He hemmed and hawed and gave me the, "What if I don't want to see it and you push it on me?" bit. I suggested he just trust me. It was something I had been talking about for months and it wouldn't cost him any money. It was a full side picture of a Bugatti Veyron Sang Noir, my current favorite car that isn't a Koenigsegg and one I haven't been able to get a good photo of. He kept giving me shit about it, so I said fuck it and turned back towards the TV.

His mom did him dirty this week. That's what the Family calls it when someone fucks you over. She called and left a message of vague urgency that his father was in the hospital, but gave no reason why. Doc called back after stressing about it for two or three days, and found out his dad had kidney stones, that's why he was in the hospital. No cause to be vague or urgent. His mom was testing him, testing his response time. It totally fucked him up. That woman ruins shit. Why must families be so fabulously manipulative?

All of the bullshit from this week, from him almost quoting his mom verbatim while mocking my UK language affectation. Me trying to help him and asking him for one thing to do it with and being offered his hand to shake while he said to me, "Nice to me you, I'm Doc, I'm not your bitch." That got him a few hours of blessed silence.

We've (he's) come up with a new communication flaw, I talk to slowly for him to follow me. But I thought when I talked, I was too emphatic. He's also taken to cruelly mocking me in a horrible voice when he doesn't hear what I say. Is he trying to get me to agree to go to a group home? Is that his thing?

Yesterday I slept instead of eating. When he got up in the early afternoon he mentioned getting my meds (I've been without Xanax so long I have almost depleted his supply), and getting me Arby's like he promised me. I waited until 9pm, when both places closed, to get a chip on my shoulder about it. He went in and made nachos. What I was going to make for myself many hours before but he took over the kitchen, and he ruined my large sautee pan, by doing to it what I have repeatedly and expressly told him not to do with it. And I'm afraid to use it because the Teflon has been compromised.

I'm just not happy with him. Oh, and he didn't make me any nachos like I always do for him.

So, it's Sunday and he goes back to work tonight. He's asleep now, but I don't know if this is a nap, or if he plans to sleep until 4. I got up after he lay down, so I'm just guessing at things.

For most of this post, Boomer was laying on my arms, just leaving my hands free enough to type. This cat and I have mad skillz.

And if you hear what sounds like a gunshot in the back yard at night, it's just one of the cats jumping off the roof of the house onto the roof of the tin shed. Vader did that last night and it scared the crap out of me. And three other cats and the dog.
2013, cyd, new

Now then, this is Sunday Evening

I don't know what to think about Doc. I didn't talk today, much. Answered questions with 1 or2 word answers. Just didn't feel like engaging, since every time we do, it ends badly.

I have always been very lucky in a couple of respects, I am a healthy person, or too strong to give in to bad health. Aside from the odd allergies, or respiratory infection, I mean. My back has always been strong, and my knees. Even with various injuries to both over the years, nothing lingering. At UPS I was taken to the Doctor directly from work by a manager after badly packed boxes fell on me, and some joker put a 70lb package above my head to get down. But those injuries went away.

The other night, I wrenched my back while asleep. And wow, I had no idea how lucky I have been. Doc has knee problems, and I see what he goes through with them. I would hate to have that problem. The way I sit on my legs and curl up my legs, if my knees gave me issues, I couldn't do that and it would create problem.

I've reached a new low in invisibility on Twitter. I posted to a trending tag and got nothing from it, and it had a questionable title. Maybe too questionable. Who gives a shit.

I cleaned out the mudroom today. Completely emptied it, swept and scrubbed the tile floor. And then put a few items, like the litter boxes back in. It took me a couple of hours, and Doc did move a couple of boxes for me. I found a bunch of cool stuff. A small photo album with pictures I've been searching for. And a folder full of hand written and revised and edited poetry.

The albino lizard in the eve of the patio is out of hibernation, spring is officially here! Oh, and this coming week will end close to 90 degrees. But my lizard made it through the winter. I scared him last night when I saw him because I was trying to get Doc out to come see him.

I'm shutting down. I don't know why. I have a lot of apathy. A whole lot of nothing. I imagine that if you were to look into my eyes right now, they would be empty. Ice blue and completely deserted. Something is coming. And I don't think it will be good for me. It may be good for those around me, ultimately. But not for me. And if I could feel anything, it would be fear. But I don't feel that. Maybe some ground-level background dread, but not active fear. Just the paranoia. And the deathly cool hand of apathy.