For Pete’s sake I was much more optimistic earlier this year, wasn’t I?
I swear to God what a clusterfuck life is. It’s a good clusterfuck, don’t get me wrong, but still. I’m JUST NOW getting well from a sickness that tried to kill me, as you know. Or at least kill my sweet husband. He’s tried everything to care for me and it even came to buying me “Ensure” this past weekend so that I could keep something down. My friends, that’s love. Nothing says love like a nutritional chocalate shake aimed at the geriatric. But he was at the end of his rope. Things are better. I have had two days taking a a shower and even one of them I wore a bra. BABY STEPS.
Today I even threw out the Indian food I ordered before Christmas. I’m a regular Florence Henderson. Crap, Ann B. Davis.
We got a damn cat by accident, did I tell you? Oh yes, I did, I remember now. (See him up there trying to fist bump me while I’m trying to nap, WTF? In his defense Elliot and Stabler had just kicked some Special Victims ass but still, manners dude.) On CHRISTMAS EVE there was a storm blowing through our town and we took the girls to look outside for Santa’s sleigh and this damn fat cat just RAN into our house. I am NOT a cat person. NOT AT ALL. Allergic, intolerant and kind of judgmental. Don’t care for them. Well, a month later and here it’s a got a collar, vaccinations and sleeps in my bed. How did this happen? I call him “Potato” or “Cat Stevens” or “Cat Boone” or “Sauerkraut”. Everyone has their own name for him. That’s the beauty of cats, they don’t give a shit what you call them. I wish I was more like that.
Anyway, he’s kind of an asshole but I like him alright. He’s learned to use Coop’s dog door right off the bat. Kind of impressive. I didn’t know cats did that. He eats kibble. He doesn’t scratch. He sleeps a lot. Super low maintenance. Jesus, I kind of wish we were dating.
I have a physical ( MY FIRST) on Tuesday and I’m terrified. I have ridden on the back of a drunken jerk’s motorcycle at 90 miles an hour down the PCH and this 45 minute appointment terrifies me more. It’s not the Physical itself, it’s the RESULTS. Cirrhosis. Liver damage. Pancreatic Cancer. AIDS (OMG, that ONE night in Orange County), Lung Cancer, Blindness, Spleen failure ( I don’t even know what my fucking spleen DOES but I want to keep it like an old purse that might someday go with a new outfit). Ugh. I’m so, so scared. High cholesterol? I’ll take it. But if I come in for my results and they take me into some small dark room with nothing but two chairs and a box of Kleenex I’m OUT like a scalded dog.
Fingers crossed, my friends. I will go tits up in the parking lot if they just tell me to take more Fish Oil.