July 30th, 2004


(no subject)

I'm at the Holiday Inn near our house. I'm allergic to paint and since the poky painters have finally reached the point where they're painting my room and bathroom I have nowhere to sleep.

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.

Just For Today I Brushed My Hair With a Fork

I'm feeling a bit better this morning -- a little less heartbroken and more like the long suffering survivor that I am. I am well aware of the fact that I take this all on myself, these are my choices that are biting me, but knowing this doesn't make the hurt any less, it just tempers it a bit.

I worked on my enormous To Do list this morning, trying to put things in order of importance for my basic financial survival, for Beau and my health, and then the magazine shoot. I'd love to have the time to type it up and share it with you just for fun, so you could see how overwhelming it is, but I'm stealing time as it is just to write this. I've got appointments, commitments and things to do all day long and into the night. My list is long enough to keep a person busy for months and beyond. Bleh.

I took a shower and realized I'd left my brush at home so I called downstairs and asked for a courtesy comb, which they promised to send right up and never did, so I brushed my hair with a fork. You'd never know how well a fork can comb through hair until you try it.

I am utterly perplexed about the election. I don't like either candidate and think I should just vote for Kerry to get rid of Bush but I don't trust him yet. I'm not sure why, maybe it's because I read that he's a hunter, but then I heard that bit about him rescuing his daughter's hamster and giving it CPR and that softened me up. I'm deeply suspicious of politicians so for all I know that could have been a made up story and besides what father wouldn't help his child's dying pet? Or maybe I should say what good father wouldn't help his child's pet, and a man who would try to save the life of a hamster, while rating high in my books as being a compassionate being, may not necessarily have what it takes to be president. Plus I'm not digging his wife.

Help me out here, I'm open to education and debate on this, honestly, I'm so stuck. If only there really were a President Jeb Bartlett who we could vote for. If only I were younger and less worried about things like inheritance and property taxes so I could go back to being the hard core bleeding heart liberal I've always been. More and more it seems like I'm leaning towards the middle when it comes to things like taxes and terrorism. Aren't things supposed to get mellower with age?

I have an entire conversation about psychic channeling I'd like to have with you but I am so out of time here. I want to know if you think it's bullshit, if you believe in it, or if you think it's something we all can do if we choose to. I have a friend who truly believes in it but he has always been a bit too easily swayed and sucked in by all things woo woo spiritual, not that I don't believe in extrasensory perception and psychic phenomenon. I know that there are things I cannot perceive with my senses. I know that there are beautiful complicated mathematical mysteries just waiting for us to discover them, beings hoping we will break through barriers to touch them, I listen to Art Bell/Coast to Coast for heaven's sakes, but I don't know if I believe in all of the people out there who in their spiritual arrogance believe, or want us to believe that they can channel entities who have our highest good at heart. And I don't like that we, as seriously flawed human's who are often chained to this earth by our many addictions to the substances we find here, can pick and choose who we want to listen to when the advice they give us is challenging or something we don't want to hear, especially when it runs along the lines of advice we have been given by just about every other person on this planet who has ever loved us. I know I'm being a bit cryptic here but it's because I'm trying to protect someone's privacy.

The confusion I'm having about this goes a little something like this; I have a dear friend who in my opinion is overly dependent on a substance, let's just choose something silly like Jell-O. My friend loves Jell-O and has to have it several times every day. I think it's gotten to the point where this gelatinous substance has become very harmful to him. I think it makes him fat, tired, antisocial, gets in the way of all of his dreams and blocks the light shining through his clear channel to the art muses above. Some stuff gets through, yes, because he's a genius, but it's often muddy and hard for people to relate to because it's being filtered through all of this damned Jell-O. You can't talk to him about this because he is so sensitive about it and thinks that anyone who says anything against his favorite desert is just stupid and unable to appreciate the powerful, ancient, spiritual connection he has with this somewhat simple thing. Besides it has such powerful medicinal effects, the Jell-O has the power to make all the pain go away, physical as well as emotional. He can't see that this gelatin has taken over and he is stuck in a vicious dependent cycle. BTW I'm not talking about myself here, just for today I have beat my recent dependency on prescription drugs, etc.

I myself think Jell-O is a good thing. I think people should be able to enjoy Jell-O and make their own Jell-O at home, but like anything, like me with food or shopping or pets, too much of a good thing can become, well, too damned much of a good thing and eventually it can take over and destroy a person -- everything in my friend's life, and in his home is sticky.

It's not my place to judge another person even though I am flawed and often do. But I try to stay out of the way and just work on my own stuff, setting my own boundaries so that I don't have to be lonely and alone with a friend who is drunk on Jell-O. That's the best I can do. So my friend, who believes in all of these woo woo things, hooks up with a psychic channeling group and it seems to me, but I may have this all wrong because this is a sensitive subject for me, that the group leader wants him to give up Jell-O for a few days in order to receive her spiritual messages, and he tells me that he now thinks she is a power hungry abuse monster and that he's going to pull back, she's been heavy handed and manipulative and unkind to him and others from the start, and besides he was able to abstain from eating deserts for the four days he spent away from home. But when I reminded him that this was because he was forced to do so because of those damned Jell-O sniffing dogs they have at airports he got upset and defensive and things went downhill from there. I just think if you're going to go to gurus you ought to at least weigh their advice even when it threatens your most precious and deeply ingrained relationships with earthbound things. Now watch me go to someone who tells me to get rid of all my cats and we'll see how fast I'll be out of there.

Okay, I have to go, I am soooo late...

Hugs and thanks as always,
Your friend -- Jacqui