Bunniblog

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Midnight with Moonshine and Mason Jars

Drinkin' vodka on the rocks out of a mason jar right now. No pissanting around with a small glass. I want liquor and lots of it. Luckily my mother has a well stocked liquor cabinet, and she can't drink any of it. (My mother developed an allergy to alcohol a few years ago, but still maintains her liquor cabinet for entertaining. I am entertained.)

Had to take the cat to the animal ER earlier tonight. She was quiet today and at first I thought she was getting better, but then she seemed sluggish and unresponsive. She still has blood in her urine and so we loaded her into the carrier fearing kidney failure.

The Good News:

This vet, unlike those asshats I've been visiting in the city, did a whole work up-blood and urinalysis. The urinalysis revealed blood in the urine, but was surprisingly normal aside from that. The bood work was completely normal. This means Miss P isn't dying any time soon.

The Bad News:

The lack of any clear indicator of what's wrong means that even though there isn't any serious failure, we still don't know what the fuck is wrong and clearly SOMETHING is wrong if there is still blood in the urine. So off we go to the vet tomorrow with new test results, crossed fingers, and hopefully a not to hypocritical invocation of the universe's beneficience towards my cat.

Even More Bad News:

This event fits in well with the end of this summer. I was supposed to work on getting published and working on my own writing and instead I've managed to alienate my friends with the postings on a blog with a rapidly decreasing readership. The cruising of job listings has revealed that essentially I am totally unfit to be anything but NYU's flogmonkey. I continue to fail meeting lifetime markers like getting health insurance and prusuing a career with advancement potential or even finding someone who will regularly attempt romantic advances towards me.

And on top of that, I can't write.

And I don't mean that I don't have any talent. I have some talent at writing. There I said it. But I can't do it anymore.

And I know because I used to be able to. Even when it was difficult, there were stories I was compelled to write down. Now I have notes, but it's like hysterical muteness. Is that even a word? I open my mouth to speak, I poise my pen to write, and something stops me, paralyzes me, keeps the pen in the air.

And sure some of it is because I'm not as talented as I like to think I am. And now I've become this depressed paralytically terrified frumpy emotionally stunted completely unemployable failure of a cat lady. And I only had one cat. It's not like I was maintaining a house of three cats single handedly while running a whole fucking hospital like my mother, the Pastel Puma, who still has to drop everything to help her idiot daughter take care of her own cat.

The good news is that since this vet took my cat off of valium I can snitch one.

And that's the best news I've had this week.

Bad Bunni posted at 8/28/2006 12:17:00 AM |

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