I am so hung over, sleep wise. I noticed that my little rattie (or is it ratty, I never know) wasn't doing so well last night so I had to take her to the emergency vet. It's weird being out that late in LA. Streets that are normally congested with traffic and nearly deserted and the cops park and look like they've run out of things to do.
I'm on my way out now to take her to the regular vet, who specializes in rattie medicine so he can tell me what we can do. It seems like she has a herniated colon or something really not good going on down there. Bog huge sigh. Poor sweet little rat. I got her because she was missing an eye. I'm a sucker for pet pals without eyes. I almost picked up a cat, at the shelter in San Diego with Beau, because she was missing an eye. Unfortunately there were all kinds of rules and we couldn't take her with us for three more days at least, but it worked out okay because she was part of some sort of program that guaranteed her being placed as opposed to murdered by the shelter killers. I swear I can't wait for us to become another no kill state. That and adoption rights are my big political focus right now.
I'm adopted. I think some of you must know that by now. I'm really thrilled about the measure that was passed in Oregon giving adoptees the right to have their original birth certificates. It probably won't do me any good if I ever get mine, because my birth mother is incredibly deceptive and selfish and probably wouldn't have put down my father's name since she is determined to keep this information from me. She has told so many different lies to so many people, it kills me how easily she lies to her daughter, my sister, and how willing she is to accept those lies. It's a good lie too. She told her that she was raped and doesn't know who my father is. So of course, my sister, blindly accepts this truth, and then why would she want to have anything to do with me, rape sister? How convenient for Loretta, my birth mother. I don't know if my other sister and brother know anything about me. The last I heard from my birth mother was lovingly timed to arrive on my birthday last year, a sweet letter saying, "You are the product of a rape. Be grateful for the family you were given and leave mine alone!" Lovely isn't she? Won't even give me any kind of family health history or the tiniest bit of information about my birth father or how I was conceived. Although according to my records in Sacramento, what little I could get, she told them a whole different story. Then she told my sister I was lying about this. I really hate her at this point. I don't understand how I could be the daughter of such a cold heartless person.
God what got me started on this? Oh I know, there's an article in Rolling Stone magazine I read last night. It stirred this all up for me, although it's always there, lurking just under my consciousness. Argh, off to the vet.