cabbitzilla (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cabbitzilla) wrote2001-07-08 10:22 pm
cabbitzilla) wrote2001-07-08 10:22 pm
Hrm
And with that, we're home again. I feel rather like I've been drop-punted through a steel bulkhead. *sigh*
So here I set, writing this all up offline, and maybe it'll actually get posted whilst it's still the 8th. Of course, that depends on whether I'm still conscious when the SO gets off the phone with the family. I never know if it's a short one or long one till it's done.
And in the waning hours of the day, I'm left with but a single question: Was this really necessary? I've had my health, my financial stability, my job, and most of my sanity stripped away to be replaced with what? Endless days of pain whiteout with just enough mental acuity remaining to know each and every thing that I'm missing, now. Joy, rapture.
Glum, you ask? Down, depressed, in a funk? Maybe so. It may even be deserved, though I'll be damned if I can recall what I did to reap this kind of karmic backlash. Near as I can figure, I must've been one -hell- of an evil punk in the last go round or three.
But at least my piggie's healthy and happy. He likes to stick his head out the back port of his box so I can scritch his nose... he's a real cutie, and doesn't seem to mind if I can't remember who the bloody heck I am some days. Bah. Cute, loving, cuddly guinea piggie. And give him just one scant hint that there might be a carrot in one of your pockets, and he's going a million miles an hour trying to find it. :p Silly fuzzy. And he's got a near insatiable appetite for paper, although he's very picky about his magazines. :) Harpers Bazaar or Shape, for him. You just -try- giving him a Reader's Digest; he'll flip it right off his table and onto the floor, then flounce back to his burrow. Of course, his appetite -does- include anything that I'm reading at the time. On more than one occasion, he's pulled a paperback right out of my hands.
But I'm afraid to pick him up and cuddle him, for fear I'll drop him... so I try and give him scritchies when I can, and hope he knows just how much he's loved.
So here I set, writing this all up offline, and maybe it'll actually get posted whilst it's still the 8th. Of course, that depends on whether I'm still conscious when the SO gets off the phone with the family. I never know if it's a short one or long one till it's done.
And in the waning hours of the day, I'm left with but a single question: Was this really necessary? I've had my health, my financial stability, my job, and most of my sanity stripped away to be replaced with what? Endless days of pain whiteout with just enough mental acuity remaining to know each and every thing that I'm missing, now. Joy, rapture.
Glum, you ask? Down, depressed, in a funk? Maybe so. It may even be deserved, though I'll be damned if I can recall what I did to reap this kind of karmic backlash. Near as I can figure, I must've been one -hell- of an evil punk in the last go round or three.
But at least my piggie's healthy and happy. He likes to stick his head out the back port of his box so I can scritch his nose... he's a real cutie, and doesn't seem to mind if I can't remember who the bloody heck I am some days. Bah. Cute, loving, cuddly guinea piggie. And give him just one scant hint that there might be a carrot in one of your pockets, and he's going a million miles an hour trying to find it. :p Silly fuzzy. And he's got a near insatiable appetite for paper, although he's very picky about his magazines. :) Harpers Bazaar or Shape, for him. You just -try- giving him a Reader's Digest; he'll flip it right off his table and onto the floor, then flounce back to his burrow. Of course, his appetite -does- include anything that I'm reading at the time. On more than one occasion, he's pulled a paperback right out of my hands.
But I'm afraid to pick him up and cuddle him, for fear I'll drop him... so I try and give him scritchies when I can, and hope he knows just how much he's loved.