I am suddenly and fiercely obsessed with two men in their 40's, that I still see in their late teens/early 20's. At least one is married. I have no romantic interest in either of them. I've written no poetry to either of them, ever. Though I once wrote a poem with one of them. I really wonder what is in my journals, if anything, about them. They were so key to my senior year in high school. One of them, we broke each other's hearts. Really tore them out of each other and stomped on them. Showed no mercy. The other one, we just never clicked. We tried to click. I clicked with his ex-girlfriend a few times, but he and I could never coordinate ourselves. There was always someone in the way. I let him break my heart over and over. I was like that back then. I let anybody take up residence in my head back then.
Facebook is dangerous like that. I haven't even told Doc about either of these two, so ancient is their history. One, I don't want to talk to. I feel like just conversing with me would damage him somehow. But the other, I want to talk to, but keep it light. But I'm terrified. So I won't.
I am the books to dog and cat bookends on this couch. In this case, Boomer with Chewy. I think he's in love with his hoodie. He's even figured out how to squirm his head to put the hood up and down on his own.
I found about a gram of that catnip they like, the organic stuff, so we're having a nip party tonight. I'm going to sprinkle it all over the cat tree, since all of the cats like the tree. That way they all get some.
Major threw up on the back of my neck today, and now I have to get new skin. Ew. He was up in the window and just yarked right down on me. He's been binge eating and doing this for a few days now. I have to be more careful about letting the food run out. I think he panics when it gets low and eats too much in response, or goes and eats the dog's food. So it's really on me to pay more attention. No one else is getting sick!
I had to sit up with Felix last night (which is what led to the Seroquel-high posting) because he ate 1/2 cup of marinara sauce with onions and garlic in it. It was up on the counter, waiting for my cheese stix to cook and then be dipped in it. And he got up on the counter and licked the bowl clean. I tried to get him to puke, but it's harder to make a cat puke than you'd think. So I gave him some Lactaid milk that Doc went out and got him, and sat up with him to make sure he didn't get sick and start throwing up blood or implode or something. I know in his first home, he lived on pizza and burritos, they never gave him cat food, it was all human food for him. So his system was already familiar with tomato sauce, but I worried anyway. It's been years since he has had that stuff.
I finally made my sandwich. It was delicious.
I have a Poor Doc anecdote. We all know that I don't leave the house except to walk Chewbacca and go to the shrink and twice yearly to go to Epic Thrift to get clothes. So for everything else, Doc does/gets it. All my feminine hygiene stuff, underwear, shampoo, hair bleach, toothpaste, Monistat, all of it. Today his quest is for hair ties. Not rubber bands. Elastic, coated with thread hair ties. Much smaller than the way-too stretched out one that I had to show him. He's taking a shower in preparation for this task. Incidentally, this also means he buys all of my presents to him. Or, since all money goes through him, at least knows about them. The reason I am not forced out of the house more often? the big ass truck is about to drop its transmission, and two won't fit on the scooter bike.
I have got to get the nerve up to talk to those guys up around the corner about their truck fetish and see if they'd want to twaddle around with an '85 Power Ram. See, I even know what the big ass truck is.
It smells like a diner in here. Bacon and freshly brewed coffee. I love it.