Oh God you guys, this was such a painfully depressing day, and yet despite this I always feel a little funny saying I've had a bad day because it's usually my experience that in the midst of the sadness there are always some small moments of joy. In order of occurrence; While finishing cleaning out the bathroom for the painters I dropped a heavy glass bottle on the same toe that is already bruised and tender from my having dropped something on it about a week ago, I forced myself to keep my gynecological appointment only to discover upon arrival at her office that she had canceled all of her appointments and no one had bothered to call and let me know this, I had to give my ferrets away and they licked and kissed me good-bye, my cat Oliver "Ollie" died at the vet hospital and Dr. Moller, our vet, called to tell me this as I was standing at the ATM machine where I had just learned that I had seven hundred dollars less than I thought I had leaving me with nothing in the bank.
I'm really torn up and conflicted about having given our sweet, little ferret babies away -- I loved them so fucking much, but it's illegal to have ferrets in California and I can't risk their getting confiscated and murdered if the Animal Control shit monkeys decide to pay us a visit at some random time. I hate my neighbor! I hate my neighbor! I hate my neighbor -- sorry just had to get that out. Let me just say this one more time, I HATE MY NEIGHBOR!!!! I'll have to work on the whole turn-the-other-cheek/love-thy-neighbor thing, some other time. Right now I'm just too damned busy HATING MY NEIGHBOR!!!
I know this post is devolving into a seriously crude entry and we are heading into the land of the scatological but I really feel like going over there and taking a big shit in her yard or clipping all of her roses off, spray painting them black and leaving them in a pile by her back door. Anything seriously twisted, weird, or spooky, that would freak her out. But of course I won't because I'm too damned worried about being right and good and fair and decent all the time. I'm already feeling guilty for just having indulged in the fantasy of doing something nasty to her like filling her mailbox with possum poop or smearing her windshield with honey and opening a feather pillow over it. I've even indulged in juvenile fantasies about ordering inedibly exotic pizzas like pineapple, jalapeno, coconut, sardines curry and banana from every Italian restaurant I can think of that will deliver, as late as they will deliver, putting them on the most liberal mailing lists I can find, making donations in their name to charities and causes they hate, and subscribing to a few choice porn magazines. Beau wants me to do the flaming bag o' poop ring the bell and run trick to them, but alas, like I said, I will do none of these things if only for the sake of protecting our good karma.
My friend Aleida, our amazing and wonderful mail carrier suggested calling the city and turning them in for the fence they have around their house that is too high and for which they obviously do not have a permit, either that or busting her for always going through my mail. Yes, she actually comes over sometimes, (although now that she knows I know she probably won't do it anymore), opens up my mailbox, takes my mail out, and rifles through it under the pretext that some of her mail might have gotten mixed up with mine. I really hate this neighbor, really! Anyone who threatens the people, pets, or things I love goes to the head of the hate line, for now anyway, at least until I can get some distance and perspective and then darn it if they don't go to the head of the people I resent who I have to pray for, for thirty days line instead. I learned this in Twelve Step programs and even though I hate doing it, and I drag my feet when it comes to doing it, it really does help lift the resentment that is really only hurting me, Martha couldn't care less that I'm hating here, she's probably sitting at home right now filled with bliss and self contentment thinking, "Hee hee hee, I really screwed Jacqui but good." Aleida said that she thinks the reason Martha hates me so much is because I color outside the lines. I mean this is a woman who can't stop herself from writing notes to everyone on our block imploring people to keep their cars off the street because, "It looks so much nicer that way," and here I am, the gal with the big two story lifeguard chair and a life-size plastic cow in her front yard.
I've never written anything like this here before, at least I don't think I have, and believe me it doesn't exactly spring easily from the fingers of a rebellious debutante like me, but days like this make me want to seek revenge, despite my basically pacifistic nature. The fun gossipy gaggle of nurses at my gynecologist's office said I should mix up a batch of battery acid, bleach and lye and keep it on hand to spray into the eyes of anyone who might just happen to be peeking through the knot holes of my fence, my, my, my, I guess I'm not the only person who can come up with revenge fantasies. They also suggested BB and paint guns. They also old me who did Roseanne's tummy tuck, but that's another story.
Oliver was, (I can't believe I am having to write about him in the past tense, I just don't get it), the sweetest, gentlest cat, and now he's gone. He had the raspiest, most plaintive meow and would cry so pitifully when he was on the other side of the door to my room. It feels like it was just yesterday that he was sitting on me, claiming his territory, and feistily beating all of the other cats off who would come near me. He started losing weight a couple of weeks ago. We took him to the vet, who couldn't find anything wrong, and put him on antibiotics and subcutaneous fluids and watched as he kept going downhill. Finally we hospitalized him and he just kept getting worse. None of his blood work showed anything conclusive other than the fact that he was fighting some kind of infection. Yesterday when I visited him, (thank God I did that), he was so thin and his body was cold. He meowed at me in that hoarse high pitched way that he does. Then today he just simply died in his cage. At least I didn't have to make the heart wrenching decision to have him, "put to sleep," but it's still a wrench and a loss and I'm hurting and missing him. I'm definitely depressed, I can feel it, I'm out of it, spacey, sad, angry and lonely.
On the positive side, I saw my Mom today and she was happy with the work we've been doing around the house. She seemed kind of positive for a change and liked the fabrics I showed her. The window people came and installed the wooden blinds. The painters finished the doctor's cabinets and we filled them back up with my collections. I put all of the furniture back where it belonged on the porch. Michael/Cowboy the carpenter came by and talked about fixing my pocket door and installing doors to the kitchen. Sunday called and said that the magazine had agreed to pay her to come for both days to style the shoot. Barbara Blake, the fabric gal, said that she would have all of the valances, pillows, and slipcovers ready by Saturday. Last night Anna and I put fresh ribbons on all of the baskets, Beau and Anna rode their bikes over to see me at the hotel which was sweet and uplifting, and Aleida and the gals at the gynecologist's office helped cheer me up a bit. Our garden looks sweet with all of the lettuce planted around Bessie the cow, and I added a little broken bunny to the row of pool balls that border the herb garden. Oh and I had a Boba tea from my favorite little punky Japanese boba cafe. that always lifts my spirits a bit, it's my new habit.
You know, it was just a couple of days ago that I was telling myself that I should be happy and count myself lucky for having escaped having to deal with the animal control bureaucracy after the whole housekeeper money extortion nightmare, and I also remember thinking how grateful I was that we hadn't had a serious cat health drama in at least a month. Then again I miss Sparkle and Twinkle every day. I've lost so many pets in the last couple of years that it's hard to keep up with the grieving.
Now I'm just tired and sad, too tired and sad to share the last pictures I took of my ferrets, too tired to play on Live Journal and visit friends although I want to, so tired that my eyes are crossing and I'm having trouble typing.
Ummm, is that a fire alarm? How weird, I'll have to call and see what's going on. Yep, someone pulled the fire alarm and security caught them and kicked them out.
Maybe if I pray hard enough my Dad, my Grandparents, my Uncle Doug, or my cats will come visit me in my dreams tonight. Maybe Sonia will come and do my hair, Coral will read some of her poetry or Joe will take me dancing. That would be so nice. I miss them all so much.