"Don't worry" he told me "I rinsed it out real good." Whew.
I woke up with a headache, and Torbie in my bed. There's a question: would I want Torbie to sleep with me every night, if it meant a headache? Yes.
I suspect the heater may be at play in my headaches. They are always worse in the winter, with the system running.
Ron has been running the heater a lot, keeping it very warm, but the bill was only about $80. Not bad considering.
I also woke up depressed. I skipped my God Time and shower, threw on some clothes and deodorant. We went to the warehouse and I got a lot of pastry it turned out I didn't need. I also got Fruit Roll Ups which I did need (I sell them for 50 cents each).
I found out something interesting lately. I notice I have been biting and licking my lips, and grinding my teeth. Turns out those are "normal" side effects of my antipsychotic. Am I "psycho"? No? OK then, keep taking it.
Delusions, paranoia, and hallucinations are hell, especially when depressed. Most suicides are suffering from psychosis and depression, or a mixed bipolar episode. Ugh. Both are hideous. How about a mixed, psychotic, episode?
"You know" I told Ron today "If I thought this life was it, and I had another 40 years, I would buy a gun and blow my head off." It's just horrifying. I hear songs like "One more day" and while I can appreciate the sentiment, I hope I have one day less in my lifetime.
It's just hard. Very hard. Every damn day of the year.
I got my products at the warehouse and we had a very long (hour and a half) ride to work. It was interesting. One woman kept yelling at the driver because she was going to be late for a church meeting. She was only 2 minutes "late" and people were still crossing the parking lot when we dropped her off.
We picked up one lady at an apartment. Yesterday I had seen a lot of smoke and helicopters circling an apartment-rich area off 1960. As we rounded the corner, we saw water everywhere and a crispy, blackened, building.
[Houston apartments have a couple dozen small buildings, a few units per building, just in case one is damaged or burns, we have plenty of room to do so.]
"Our" client lived maybe a dozen yards away. I asked her when the building burned down. She said yesterday. So I did see it.
"That's amazing" I told her "Your apartment is OK?" She agreed, then said she was "lucky".
"That's not luck" I retorted "God had His hand on your building." She just shrugged.
Huh, the building next to me burns down, mine is undamaged, I'm giving the glory to God, not "luck".
We had to drop her off at her job, collection agency. Ugh. "They all dress like they up in the club" she told me.
Huh.
We picked up another client, to the church lady's fury. She calmed down when she realized it was another lady from her church, and they were both headed to the same destination. Like I said, she got there on time.
Ron rode so long in the back, he got carsick (over an hour and a half).
He was in the back compartment for the wheelchair:
We went in to work. It was dead. So dead, I told Ron, I think we can stay home until the downtown workers move into our building at the end of March. He agreed.
We barely had any work. We did what we could and restocked the fridge. We will need a "truck day" next week.
I'm a little worried, our guy with a truck is talking about going from a pickup to a crossover SUV, and thinks it will "take the same amount of merchandise, since you can stack it". I SERIOUSLY doubt that. It will also make it horrible to load and unload.
I'm hoping he falls in love with a big macho truck. Otherwise we may need to change the way we do business.
I think he's hoping for a "classier" vehicle to impress the ladies.
Oh, well, I have enough on my plate. I'm not going to worry.
We went to lunch yesterday and our friend went to the bathroom. Shocking, yes, he has a bladder! :) While he was gone I told Ron that I was horribly depressed, and I had a terrible feeling it was infecting my speech - that I had become that dreaded "downer" everyone loathes. Ron told me I was "Fine" "great" and even he couldn't tell. OK. I accept that, but I must be really good at faking!
I was not in good shape today mentally, depressed and ruminating. Ruminating, for me, is going over and over a subject that upsets me, reliving the "wrongs" I suffered, and anticipating "What they're going to do to me in the future". It's really hideous.
Like I told Ron "If depression were a tumor I'd cut it out myself!"
When we finally got home I ate something and took my Wellbutrin, but it wasn't a big enough snack and I got pretty queasy. Right before our Date Night.
When we got to Carl's Jr (only the finest dates for us), I just had a shake and a few fries. I got my burger to go. The shake was hefty enough to "hold" my afternoon meds, which I also desperately needed (still queasy though). Ron and I had a good time.
We came home and Gravy got out. I rounded him up. Ron went inside and went to sleep. He is generally awake at night, likes to sleep from 3-11 or so. He said both kittens slept with him for a while last night, and "some(kitten)" slept with him "almost all night". He sure loves those little boys.
I offered to pay for half the neutering and Ron was highly offended. He reminded me, the only things I've asked for have been glasses and a new toilet. Both needed.
I just don't want to be the "expensive" wife, demanding this and that, but these cats are it. No more.
Torbie likes the little nest I made for her. She was growling at the kittens earlier, I think she is claiming me as her property. She won't let them on my bed.
I really have no idea what happened to her before the shelter, here are a few theories though:
1. They got a new kitten or puppy and tossed her.
2. She ate the cord on a pair of Beats. She loves to eat headphone cords - easy to fix, Ron went wireless.
3. New man/woman didn't like cats.
Whatever the story, she was dumped. I think she worries it could happen again. That would never happen. I've even arranged for someone to take the cats if/when I die.
They also like the window seat. Good. I want to keep their world safe and interesting. They have plenty of toys and interesting places. Good food. As I suspected, everyone is eating the kitten food. Torbie's fur even feels a little oily from all the fats, and she has definitely gained weight.
They're good babies. I'm glad they are cats; my illness won't affect them much. Ron and I share food and water duties, I do litter duty (I have a really cool long handled scoop which makes the job pretty easy). We have 4 boxes so I can skip a day if I have a migraine, otherwise I do it all daily.
The kittens, however see a clean litter box as a personal challenge. They do their best to leave a deposit if they catch me cleaning it. Apparently I am very entertaining. They follow me all over the house.
I did manage to get a very decent hour and a half nap - the father next door took out his 5 older kids. That didn't work too well; the 3 year old has an alarming habit of running in front of, and behind, paratransit vehicles. My driver was very anxious until they grabbed him. The kid had a tantrum when loaded into the their vehicle.
At any rate, they were gone, so I could sleep. The dog was quiet (has been pretty quiet overall lately).
Gravy just came by and said hi. He's a sweetie.
That, to me, is the sad thing. These cats weren't feral. They lived in a home and had good interactions with people. They were fed and nurtured. Then, they got too big or peed outside the box (clean it daily, and at least one box per cat!), and got thrown out like an empty beer can, and left to die a horrible death.
I don't applaud myself for taking them. They are "more work". God knows I have plenty of sins. But I couldn't just leave them to die.
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