I'm in no mood for Twitter. Black Lives Matter vs. Cecil the Lion vs. Black Pride (a combination of the first two that I don't quite understand). It's all the same. It's all dreary and full of death and disrespect and doom. And none of it touches me. Insanity Privilege. I let it in or not, as I want to. And I just don't want to anymore.
I'm really bummed out about Doc. I really want him to start treatment with my shrink, but every time I mention it, he goes into having to have an assessment appointment first and then ends the conversation. Great. All well and good. Whatever that means to not going in and getting treated. He's going to run out of Xanax, and won't be able to go back to his doctor because our pharmacy won't fill his doctor's scripts anymore. Plus my shrink could get him on a proper dose of a proper antidepressant instead of Doc self-medicating (wrongly) with expired meds left over from whomever. I think it would make a big difference in his quality of life.
Excuse me, I have to go throttle Teeny. Ok. She has decided to stop picking on Boomer, which is good for Boomer. But she has trained her little eyes on Felix, who is an outside cat, a real scrapper. And he won't fight her. She's too small. So when she bothers him by pouncing on him, or chasing him relentlessly, he just growls and hisses, and does not get why she doesn't get the message. So he runs from her. Usually to me. I am the mission in the desert. I am sanctuary. So Felix is now curled up next to me, and Teeny is being held off at the other end of the room by the water bottle and my careful aim, since she is in front of a book case.
It's always the electronics or the book cases (we have several around the house).
Back to my thorough dissatisfaction with the situation I find myself in. Doc asleep on the couch. Me with my headphones on. Almost 8. There's nothing on until 10, when Mr. Robot comes on. At that point, I will turn the TV on and not care about the volume.
He's having a hard time unwinding from work and going to sleep. Even though he takes sleeping medicine and drinks a cocktail on top of it. He usually stays awake through the initial high of it, playing that stupid fucking game on facebook, and then discovers that he can't fall asleep. Every fucking day. We go through this every fucking day. I'm starting to think Kelli is right. I should not be doing this for him. But I don't have enough faith that he will get up on his own and make it to work on time. He was running late the other day, and man was he a dick to me. Then he says sorry and it's supposed to be ok, when the next time he is running late, he will just be a dick again.
Actually, he's kind of a dick even when he isn't late. It's like he only has a few minutes to impart a lot of knowledge to me, but knows that he can't because I won't retain it all, so he gets mad before he ever gets out of the shower and comes out to get dressed with a harsh attitude and barks orders at me. And yells at me to communicate with him, when, if I say anything he tells me to shut up because he is thinking about something else, no he just lost it, thank you Cyd.
Every Fucking Day.