Theodore the Dog has come to live with us. Quite against his will. We shall call him Teddy when he is good. Theodore when we need to have a serious talk.
He did not enjoy the kidnapping. I had a great time.
Teddy dropped a mysterious package in the yard. I can only assume it’s a homing beacon for his former family so they can retrieve him. We have disposed of it.
The cats are unsure of this new being. He behaves strangely and smells even stranger. He does love the couch though, which will eventually unite them all!
Dog appears to be defective.
The cats have disappeared. I will embark upon an expedition to find them soon. In the meantime, I will take Teddy for a walk.
The walk went horribly. Teddy laid a trap for me. He dropped another homing beacon and as I was attempting to pick it up to dispose of it I was attacked by these creatures. I can only assume they were trying to keep me occupied while he made his escape. Not today, Teddy! For I have The Leash of Power!
Eric and Teddy are bonding while I am at work. They do this by lying around. Hopefully, this will prevent any more attacks by strange creatures in Teddy’s bid for freedom.
Teddy may have been a model in his previous life. Perhaps this is why he’s so keen to escape us and get back to his former existence. He keeps dropping those beacons. Always while we’re watching though. He’s not a very good strategist.
Teddy has found a strange device. It appears to be a butt plug. He seems to enjoy it. Although not for its intended purpose.
After much searching, I have located the cats! They have created an apocalypse-type shelter in the spare room together. Gathered food and water and litter. They seem to have everything they need.
Teddy has located the cat’s stronghold. So far their elaborate security system has kept him out. I do not think they are keen to abandon their fortress and share space with Teddy. He is not too happy about that. Perhaps he is lonely for furry companions.
Something strange has happened to Eric and I. We felt compelled to put a sweater on Teddy. Despite the fact that he is an animal. With fur. Perhaps this is because we do not have children? I shall call my therapist.
Last Sunday I had a blah day. A stay in bed and be miserable and whine at my husband kind of day. So, it was a surprise to everyone when I managed to get to work on Monday. Success! I even made the decision to get cat food after work. The kibble they have loved for ages is suddenly the most horrible thing I could possibly be feeding them and I cracked under the pressure of three adorable cats staring at me accusingly.
Monday was not a good day. It was a weepy day. I cried at work. The pressure of Christmas, dealing with the loss of Silvia and seeing how it’s affecting everyone, regular depression. It all added up to a shit day. However, I persevered! Sort of.
I left work early because I wasn’t being productive and I was crying at my desk. I sent my boss this text:
To his credit, he deals with me very well. But never tell him that. We communicate in the language of sarcasm 99% of the time and it would not translate.
I should have gone straight home, but I couldn’t face those accusing, adorable faces again so I went to get cat food.
Before I go into this next part, I need to tell you that when I’m really depressed or anxious I also get paranoid. I feel like people are looking at me funny or talking about me. It’s super fun!
The reason I say this is because I’m at the checkout and there’s a young guy helping me, one girl behind him to my left and one to the right. The one on the right has this little smile on her face and I kept sneaking peeks at her trying to figure out what she was smiling at. What’s the joke? Am I the joke because I look like I’ve been crying because I have been crying? What is it?
Meanwhile, Young Guy helping me is playing with this dog toy that is green and lights up and, to me, looks like a penis. So I think, “Ohhhh she’s smiling because he’s playing with the penis toy while he should be helping me. I totally get it!”
Young Guy: This is my favourite dog toy.
Me: Really? Looks a bit creepy?
Young Guy: What do you mean? It’s a stick.
Me: *really starting to doubt myself and wishing this conversation was over* It just looks weird to me.
Young Guy: What do you think it looks like?
Me: *really feeling like I don’thave a handle on what the joke is* It looks like a penis.
Young Guy: WHAT?!?!
Young Girl 1: WHAT?!?!
Young Girl 2: WHAT!?!?!
People Behind Me In Line: WHAT!?!?!?
I had no follow-up to that so I paid and left the store as fast as I could. On my way out I heard Young Guy say, “I don’t see it.” ACK! Why!? Why did I think I was in on the penis joke when there was no penis joke?! I was the penis joke!!
In my defence … or maybe not, here is the toy:
I sat in my car, replaying the incident in my mind, trying to stop sweating and attempting to figure out where it all went wrong. It was when I said Penis. 100%
I get so frustrated when people struggle or suffer and don’t ask for help. What’s the big deal? I think to myself. They must know that they’re loved and we will jump at the chance to help, I continue to think. Then I realized I amexactly the same way.
If it’s something to do with my job I will keep trying to do things myself until I lost my shit. For some reason it feels like asking for help means I’m failing. Even though if someone asks me for help I never think they can’t manage or aren’t smart enough.
It’s been a particularly rough year for my in-law family and last week I got a text from Juanita saying that she’d talked to Pierre and she thought that Nigel should call Pierre and I was like, what the fuck? Why doesn’t Pierre just call Nigel!? Why is this so hard? Why can’t people just tell me what they need so I can make it all better!!?!!? I ruminated on that for a few days and came up with this:
I can’t make it all better. Nor should I expect that of myself.
Pierre probably has no idea what he needs. He just knows he’s in pain.
Even if Pierre had called Nigel, he still wouldn’t know what he needs and Nigel can’t fix this situation either.
It’s likely that Pierre’s grief is making him feel apart from everyone else and maybe it makes him feel like a burden! Maybe grief lies the same way depression lies.
I wouldn’t know what to ask from people either. I’m sad; make it better?
This is hard.
In conclusion: Let’s all ask for help and make everything better for each other. Not likely.
How about this instead:
When we’re having a hard time, with any aspect of our lives, let’s force ourselves to think of one person who loves us, or likes us, enough to want to help. If that means asking a co-worker for help with a task, pick a nice person who you know you would help. If it means asking your family to help you through your grief or anxiety or depression, call one person. Send a text. Sit on their couch and cry and be held. Watch TV in silence.
Not easy, I know.
I’ll try if you try.
After I posted this I found this gem on Twitter. It was meant to be:
Yesterday I went for a CT Scan on my brain. Why, you ask? Well, let me tell you. It’s all because of this fine gentlemen:
That’s my dad and he has a brain aneurysm. This was him just before we found out all the details about what it is, where it is and what has to be done. It’s scary as fuck y’all!
Papa Smurf has a Basilar Tip Aneurysm that is 17 mm. Right in the middle of his brain which makes it a “complex aneurysm”, because of course it does.
He’s going to have brain surgery in the new year and get all patched up and be totally fine. Knock on wood. All of you. Right now!
I know, I know, I still haven’t told you why I had to get a CT Scan. So I will tell you. The motherfuckers run in families! Whaaaat!?
My dad’s mom died of a brain aneurysm. He has one now. His first- degree relatives all need to get checked. Me, my two brothers and my uncle and aunt. Good times!
The best part about the scan is that they give you an injection when your brain is getting scanned and I was told it would make me feel like I had to pee … but no, no … that’s not quite it … It made me feel like I was peeing! I was 100% sure they’d get me out and I’d sit up with pee pants. But that wasn’t the case. Just a delightful side effect. A warm, fuzzy crotch feeling. Hooray!
The lesson here is: Get your brains checked and wear Depends whilst doing so.
Me: Uterus, I know what you’re planning for my birthday. You’ve been letting hints slip all week. You really don’t have to, honestly. I think it’s nice that you remembered, but gifts are not necessary.
I have been trying to see a new therapist for ages, but the hard part of trying to go see a therapist about your anxiety is that your dickbag anxiety gets in the way of you actually getting to see the therapist. And, just to be even dickbaggier, it actually makes me dumber.
The First Dumbening
I worried all day about where to park and got so wound up about it that I texted my husband telling him I didn’t want to go. He asked me where the office was. Then told me where to park. Then I looked on a map and found an even closer parking garage. Never even occurred to me to LOOK somewhere for a parking spot. Dorp!
The Second Dumbening
I was at the parking paying machine thing and my grand total was $1.00 The machine would not take my cards. It kept telling me they were invalid. Not declined. Invalid. So mean! I tried over and over because if they didn’t work I would be trapped in the parking garage forever and would have to live in my car. I got so panicky that I texted Eric that I was trapped. Trapped? Really, Jenny? Then I found a quarter in my pocket and remembered I had 3 more in the car. SAVED! However, I started panicking anew that in the time it took me to get to the car and back the price would go up and I would be trapped in the clutches of the evil parking garage again!
It did not occur to me until much later that there were at least 3 banks less than a two-minute walk from where I was. Banks. Where they keep the money. Banks that I could walk to and get some of that money stuff that I needed to escape the evil parking garage. Shit.
It’s been 1 week and 4 days since you passed away. I’ve needed to write this every day since then but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.
You were born on January 2, 1951. You died on September 20, 2018.
In between, I got to know you for 9 years. You were my mother-in-law for almost 7 of those years.
I’m not good at letting people get close to me. As one of my friends said about me, “It takes a lot of time with her.” And it does. But we ran out of time and I’m sorry for that.
For someone like me, you were the perfect mother-in-law. Always available, but never intrusive. You made it abundantly clear that having kids makes life better but never judged Eric and me for not having any.
You always made me feel welcome in your family. I got the same pyjamas and comfy sweaters as all the other girls at Christmas. You sent me a birthday card every year. You understood that I am a texter and not good on the phone. I never felt left out and I always felt that you were happy for me and Eric. ♥
You were a badass chick! You would tell stories, or more often, others would tell stories about your younger days and I would feel like an old lady in comparison! You had some crazy adventures and that badassery stayed with you all the way to the end!
We found out you were sick on July 26, 2018, and you died 8 weeks later. I still don’t understand it. Pancreatic Cancer. Bastard.
You were surrounded by people who love you in your last days. When you finally passed we were all there and we breathed sighs of relief that your pain was over and cried tears of pain because you were gone.
I kept hearing that voice in my head telling me this is why we don’t get close to people. The pain. There’s always the pain. But as I sat there and watched people hold your hand and talk to you and weep there was a louder voice telling me that pain born of love is beautiful in itself. We are lucky to feel this pain. I still hate it, but I will open myself to the pain and the love and feel it all and cry the tears and miss you. I will love Eric and make sure he is okay as long as I have breath.