Totally new to forum, sort of new to bac
One of my cats tends to throw up hairballs at night, which is fine except for finding them and cleaning up the next day. And the sounds, the sounds are awful especially as I'm trying unsuccessfully to sleep. The other cat doesn't seem to have a problem.
There's this kinda-sorta-medicine for it, the hairballs, that helps everything pass and not get clogged up in their tummies. Laxatone, it's called, and can't help but giggle at the description right there on the tube: "Tasty lubricant for..." well, forget it, I can't get past that part. Only one of the cats thinks it's tasty, though, and guess which one? So I'm chasing the cat with the hairball problem all over the apartment, grabbing hold of him by a leg as he scurries under the coffee table, dragging him back scratching along the wood floor out into the open, with a finger slathered in this oily goo that for some reason just has to be brown, and rubbing it on his nose like the instructions say. It says this should "stimulate his interest." Sure, if "stimulate" means a crinkling nose and claws everywhere.
Some nights he does get the hint and seems to like the taste. Then there's tonight when, and I feel bad for it, I just wipe it all over his front leg. He was gonna lick all that fur anyway, at least now he gets some medicine along with it...
My evening was spent similarly avoiding medicine, though fortunately no one was chasing me around the apartment with a shot glass.
The rest of the day wasn't too bad. After waking up and having a cup of coffee this morning I decided to go back to bed, or back to futon rather, and slept until about 11. That was lovely, and the thermal carafe for the coffee maker is even lovelier, as I had hot, not-burned coffee when I woke. Ahhhh, the simple joys of life. Went down to the bookstore/cafe for more coffee, then to the bar where I graded some student papers.
Backstory: the bartender is also the general manager, so she's there early in the day doing manager-things, takes a break mid-afternoon to go do whatever it is she does, then comes back for the evening shift behind the bar.
Dear Lord in Heaven above, I promise to be good, and make amends to those I've treated unfairly, if you promise that every day when I go to the bar during the morning-time she's wearing that same tight, stretchy-knit white shirt and those pink sweatpants. And if, on her way out the door, she happens to again run her hand across my back as she says "see ya' later" I honestly don't care what you need me to do. Volunteer to teach orphan lepers to read in a tuberculosis sanatorium? Done. Overnights supervising a homeless shelter? Already did that after my 1st DUI but I'll do it again, no problem.
Back to the bookstore/cafe for more coffee, graded papers. Walked several blocks to the only other cafe in the neighborhood for an espresso, graded papers. Back to the bar, graded papers. She booked a cabana on Catalina island (very small island just off the LA coastline) for the day of her birthday. Can't help imagining hammocks on the beach, a bikini and daiquiris for her, mojitos for me. Hell, that's so Hemingway-bullshit we might as well throw in some swordfishing, but a lovely thought nonetheless. I guess it's paid per-person, since she says her o.m.friend gets a senior discount. What. The. Hell?
Anyway, it's a kind of joyful heartache I haven't felt in a long time, seeing both a smile and disappointment in her eyes when I say it's time for me to go. But the rest of the night's been a continual pull toward the kitchen cabinet.
Above my refrigerator there are 2 cabinets. On the left, I have the e-cigarettes I never managed to switch to, a box or 2 of nicotine patches, many boxes of nicotine gum, my bac supply, and 2Ls of club soda. On the right, mostly empty right now but there are shakers, mixology books, the flask with my initials engraved on the front, and whiskey. For a long time they've been called the Cabinet of Hope and the Cabinet of Despair, respectively.
Honestly I kind of prefer the Cabinet of Habit for the assonance and alliteration. Doesn't quite capture the true feeling, though.
The ex-girlfriend from back home called, a little tipsy and on her way home from work. She thinks I'm still sober since February, or did, and asked about it. Said she could tell, a couple nights on the phone. Said she could tell I was talking with my hands. Funny how that always gave me away, with her even over the phone. The boyfriend she's been with since me is leaving her for a job in Indianapolis, so she's leaving him before he moves. She says she's so damned lonely. And I feel for her, but I also felt the somnolence kicking in and started falling asleep on the phone with her. She didn't seem to notice but would've expected it if I were drinking. Maybe I should just crawl onto the futon every night and give her a ring--better than Benadryl, Gabapentin, [EDIT], better than anything for sleep.
Before that another friend from home called, the one who knows mostly about the drinking and the bac, the one who's pissed at me for sleeping with her and being a total asshole way back like 2 years ago, the feelings of which flare up every now and again. They're flaring up the past few days and she isn't really speaking to me, but 2 of her closest friends are dying of cancer, and she found out tonight 1 of them is being moved to hospice. A lot of crying interrupted with "I'm sorry I shouldn't be calling you right now, I just didn't know who else..."
Ugh. And this post is threatening to turn into a whole chapter. Really, just another sleepless night in Los Angeles. NE, wherever you are exiled out there in the real world, when you make it back here to the virtual one I'm looking forward to your admonishment over all the coffee in this post. As well as for the Red Bull this afternoon--but I did get lots of grading out of the way. And the f--king test question job just won't leave me alone. More of that to do tomorrow because I can't really think/see straight right now...
Good night, friends. What're we on today, 9? Yeah, I think that's right. #9.
One of my cats tends to throw up hairballs at night, which is fine except for finding them and cleaning up the next day. And the sounds, the sounds are awful especially as I'm trying unsuccessfully to sleep. The other cat doesn't seem to have a problem.
There's this kinda-sorta-medicine for it, the hairballs, that helps everything pass and not get clogged up in their tummies. Laxatone, it's called, and can't help but giggle at the description right there on the tube: "Tasty lubricant for..." well, forget it, I can't get past that part. Only one of the cats thinks it's tasty, though, and guess which one? So I'm chasing the cat with the hairball problem all over the apartment, grabbing hold of him by a leg as he scurries under the coffee table, dragging him back scratching along the wood floor out into the open, with a finger slathered in this oily goo that for some reason just has to be brown, and rubbing it on his nose like the instructions say. It says this should "stimulate his interest." Sure, if "stimulate" means a crinkling nose and claws everywhere.
Some nights he does get the hint and seems to like the taste. Then there's tonight when, and I feel bad for it, I just wipe it all over his front leg. He was gonna lick all that fur anyway, at least now he gets some medicine along with it...
My evening was spent similarly avoiding medicine, though fortunately no one was chasing me around the apartment with a shot glass.
The rest of the day wasn't too bad. After waking up and having a cup of coffee this morning I decided to go back to bed, or back to futon rather, and slept until about 11. That was lovely, and the thermal carafe for the coffee maker is even lovelier, as I had hot, not-burned coffee when I woke. Ahhhh, the simple joys of life. Went down to the bookstore/cafe for more coffee, then to the bar where I graded some student papers.
Backstory: the bartender is also the general manager, so she's there early in the day doing manager-things, takes a break mid-afternoon to go do whatever it is she does, then comes back for the evening shift behind the bar.
Dear Lord in Heaven above, I promise to be good, and make amends to those I've treated unfairly, if you promise that every day when I go to the bar during the morning-time she's wearing that same tight, stretchy-knit white shirt and those pink sweatpants. And if, on her way out the door, she happens to again run her hand across my back as she says "see ya' later" I honestly don't care what you need me to do. Volunteer to teach orphan lepers to read in a tuberculosis sanatorium? Done. Overnights supervising a homeless shelter? Already did that after my 1st DUI but I'll do it again, no problem.
Back to the bookstore/cafe for more coffee, graded papers. Walked several blocks to the only other cafe in the neighborhood for an espresso, graded papers. Back to the bar, graded papers. She booked a cabana on Catalina island (very small island just off the LA coastline) for the day of her birthday. Can't help imagining hammocks on the beach, a bikini and daiquiris for her, mojitos for me. Hell, that's so Hemingway-bullshit we might as well throw in some swordfishing, but a lovely thought nonetheless. I guess it's paid per-person, since she says her o.m.friend gets a senior discount. What. The. Hell?
Anyway, it's a kind of joyful heartache I haven't felt in a long time, seeing both a smile and disappointment in her eyes when I say it's time for me to go. But the rest of the night's been a continual pull toward the kitchen cabinet.
Above my refrigerator there are 2 cabinets. On the left, I have the e-cigarettes I never managed to switch to, a box or 2 of nicotine patches, many boxes of nicotine gum, my bac supply, and 2Ls of club soda. On the right, mostly empty right now but there are shakers, mixology books, the flask with my initials engraved on the front, and whiskey. For a long time they've been called the Cabinet of Hope and the Cabinet of Despair, respectively.
Honestly I kind of prefer the Cabinet of Habit for the assonance and alliteration. Doesn't quite capture the true feeling, though.
The ex-girlfriend from back home called, a little tipsy and on her way home from work. She thinks I'm still sober since February, or did, and asked about it. Said she could tell, a couple nights on the phone. Said she could tell I was talking with my hands. Funny how that always gave me away, with her even over the phone. The boyfriend she's been with since me is leaving her for a job in Indianapolis, so she's leaving him before he moves. She says she's so damned lonely. And I feel for her, but I also felt the somnolence kicking in and started falling asleep on the phone with her. She didn't seem to notice but would've expected it if I were drinking. Maybe I should just crawl onto the futon every night and give her a ring--better than Benadryl, Gabapentin, [EDIT], better than anything for sleep.
Before that another friend from home called, the one who knows mostly about the drinking and the bac, the one who's pissed at me for sleeping with her and being a total asshole way back like 2 years ago, the feelings of which flare up every now and again. They're flaring up the past few days and she isn't really speaking to me, but 2 of her closest friends are dying of cancer, and she found out tonight 1 of them is being moved to hospice. A lot of crying interrupted with "I'm sorry I shouldn't be calling you right now, I just didn't know who else..."
Ugh. And this post is threatening to turn into a whole chapter. Really, just another sleepless night in Los Angeles. NE, wherever you are exiled out there in the real world, when you make it back here to the virtual one I'm looking forward to your admonishment over all the coffee in this post. As well as for the Red Bull this afternoon--but I did get lots of grading out of the way. And the f--king test question job just won't leave me alone. More of that to do tomorrow because I can't really think/see straight right now...
Good night, friends. What're we on today, 9? Yeah, I think that's right. #9.
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