At the same time I have become very involved with friends who own a local pet store where I have been much more involved with my cat rescue. I've found homes for five cats, two dogs, a sugar glider and some goldfish. I love these people and I'm thrilled to have this opportunity to find homes for my animal friends but the drama that goes on with the employees and customers in this store is off the charts. Honestly. If I tried to tell you the stories you wouldn't believe me. Think, drama on a level beyond what an ordinary human being can handle. And then there are the customers, some wonderful, and some well... not so much.
I've been wanting to write more regularly for months but I just don't have the time. The only reason why I'm able to check in now is because my Mother's care giver (Who is covering for Rosa who suddenly had to take a three week vacation, six months before her scheduled vacation) called at four to tell me that my Mom had fallen while trying to get to the bathroom and they called the paramedics. Of course she called me afterwards. After they'd left and Mom was back in bed. Hey, at least she called me, that's a step up from the kind of cooperation I've been getting out of Rosa.
I love my Mom so much. I'm an only child and Mom doesn't have any other relatives or friends who live anywhere near her or who are young enough to be able to help in any way.
I had a wonderful conversation with our old friend Roweena Willis (John McCain's Auntie, his Mother's identical twin sister), but she's ninety-six and even though she is bright and alert, and such a love -- I adore this dear lady -- she certainly isn't up to coming over for a visit.
I was going to go to Artfest (Teeshamoore.com) the first week of April. I've been trying to do this for years. It's so much fun. But I just don't think that would be wise or fair to do to my Mom. She can't spare me for four days at this time, which is why I am so totally blown away by Rosa's packing up and leaving, borrowing plenty of money on her way out, while Mom is in such a fragile place and is so totally dependent on her. How can you profess to love someone so much, give them a dangerous virus, hide this for two days from their daughter thereby effectively preventing her from getting the very necessary medical care she needed, then when she gets the care she needs and is told by doctors and her daughter to stay at home and rest, but instead take her out shopping and to a party, which leads to a ten day hospitalization, and then merrily skip off to Guatemala in such a crazed rush that you forget to tell the woman replacing you that she needs to take her inhalers three times a day? Thank God I noticed Mom sounded wheezy yesterday and was able to ask her new caregiver if she'd been taking her inhalers. When I got the blank look I immediately got on the phone and contacted her home health care providers who sent over her nurse. Now I'm arranging more follow up visits with doctors and we've stepped up her at home nursing care and physical therapy. Meanwhile the sharks are circling. It's... just... horrible.
At night, or really any time during the day, when something funny or interesting happens, I find myself reaching for the phone to call my Mom, and then I realize that she just isn't up for our daily chatting and gossip. As different as we are my Mom has been my best and closest girlfriend for so long that I just can't let go.
Anyway, aside from being really sick myself with this damned virus, between Mom, Beau, Scott and the animal rescue, I just haven't had the kind of time I used to, and I really miss it. I miss journalling. I miss checking in on you, keeping up with your lives in my own uniquely limited but well meaning way.
No worries friends. I know that everything is unfolding and happens as it is meant to. At least that's always been my take on it, the faith in something far greater operating behind what I can experience with the senses I have access to that I have been blessed with. Faith that keeps me going through everything, through stress and troubles that pile up one on top of the other. If only I had permission to tell you the details of what these last few weeks have been like, but then I would be revealing very intimate details of other people's lives, people I have been looking after and helping out, but whose serious problems are almost beyond the limits of what I can handle.
Yesterday my friend was so overwhelmed at work that I just had to dive in and help out in her store, screwed up knees and Fibromyalgia or not, working hard core retail at a pet store like a teenager, on the day before Norouz, (Persian New Year), when every good Persian in Los Angeles is looking for gold fish the way other people buy Christmas trees at Christmas.
The goldfish are an important part of their tradition. They put them in a bowl in the middle of a table called a Hafsin, and they have to be as red as possible, for luck. My friend wasn't prepared for this -- she tried to be, but with every one of her employees unable to work for reasons I can't get into -- she needed someone to work the floor while she worked the register, so I learned how to scoop and bag tiny red goldfish for dozens and dozens of people in a big rush to get the rest of their shopping done, (Think last minute gift shopping on the night before Christmas or Hanukah), this despite my super sensitive heart, worrying for each of this little fish, trying to talk people into buying water conditioner, hoping I am entrusting these little fishy lives to people who will care for them just that much more because I gave each and every one of them a good talking to. Meanwhile, down the block, there are Persian markets with buckets of goldfish on the sidewalk, people scooping them into bags as fast as they can, free for shoppers to take home along with the rest of their marketing.
I have got to get a couple of hours of sleep before I get back out there again. I need to get my Mom a commode, some more books on tape, call all of her doctors, set up her new TV and DVR on the table I bought and put at the foot of her bed, check back in at the pet store to see how my two rescue kitties are doing, run some errands for Beau, pick up some basic supplies for the house, and hope I have enough energy left to be a loving partner to Scott. I haven't washed my car in so many months that the kids are having fun writing jokes in the dust, "I Wish My Girl Was As Dirty As This Car."
I haven't lost must weight since my latest weight loss surgery, twenty-five pounds since September, I think. But the good news is that I may have a chance at being on a new weight loss reality show by the producers of The Biggest Loser. I'm a food addict. There's no question about it. It's how I cope with stress, numbing out with sugar instead of alcohol, drugs, or nicotine, and this has to stop.
Which leads me to this video of Toccara losing it on Celebrity Fit Club. I feel sorry for her because I really get it. I totally understand what it feels like to try so hard to do something like this, to literally work your ass off and not make the kind of progress commensurate with the hard work and sacrifice this takes, and then not to get any kind of positive validation from the people around you.
I think you have to be over here on my side of the fence, wearing and walking in my old Birkenstocks, you have to be someone who has been battling weight your entire life, trying to be like other people, living in a world of thin people with speedier metabolisms and better genes, fighting physical pain and psychological trauma, to understand how emotional and raw you can get when your eating is super clean. When you're in this state you are so vulnerable and raw, everything comes up, and what might look insane to someone else, is really just panic and desperation, that and the need for a pat on the back and maybe a hug. Something that doesn't play as well on reality TV as an angry drill sergeant with a whistle.
Anyway, for a good glimpse of what I get like when I'm "dieting" take a look at this;
BTW all that, "Have some class," and "Be a woman," s#!t that they're saying to her strikes me as so facetious and sexist, especially considering the wild fight between Harvey and Dustin (Screech) Diamond that happened last season. Look it up. Why is it okay for men to lose control and swear but when a woman does it she's lacking class and not being a woman? Oh, grrr... I just need some sleep.
PS: The links at the top of my journal, the ones on my entries page that should take you to pictures of my cats, our house, and something else, are all old and broken. I want to be able to edit my account the way I used to be able to, so I can direct people to my picture folders on Flickr.com where I'm known as Jacquiscloset, but I can't figure out how to reconfigure my style system here since I'm using an older style. Anyone have any idea how I can do this?