Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Still can't sleep right.

Got the phone call this morning from the animal hospital. Zam's ashes are ready for us to pick up. Sigh.

I still keep looking for him, expecting him to be there. It hasn't entirely registered that he's gone and not coming back, but there's a big empty space, not just in the house, but inside me.

I'm not the only one. Ozymandius is having serious issues. Zamboni was his play partner. Felimid is too fat and lazy to play chase, and Harley just runs and hides. Now he chases the Things around the house when they're wearing skirts or anything that dangles. I'm going to have to buy some new toys to entertain him.

Now, when -anyone- leaves the house, Ozzy sits and HOWLS. I went through the grief-stricken kitty hysterics three times this morning, when DG left, and when each of the Things left for school. Add this to my inability to sleep, then the phone call, and getting back to sleep was right out.

Ozzy just started the mournful howling again. Thing 2 left to go to a friend's house.

He's become Velcro cat. Follows us around the house, pounces immediately, Must Have Lovings Now. Poor Oz has become completely neurotic and paranoid with Zam gone.

Double sigh. We just got a sympathy card in the snail mail from the animal hospital. They did good by Zam, and the card is just another example of how well they try to treat both the pets and the people that love them.

Is it September yet? I think I've had enough of August already.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Goodbye, my friend

Stick a fucking fork in me, I'm done.

Zamboni went from his normal loving Maine Coon self to hiding. One night, he was normal kitty. Next day, after not seeing him all day, I hunted him down to find him hiding under Thing 2's dresser. He was yellow. Skin, eyes, mouth. Overfuckingnight. Don't ask me to spell the hepatic whatever.

We took him to the vet immediately. He'd been there since Thursday, I think. This last week has blurred with everything else going on. He wouldn't eat at all, he was on an IV, they were having to force feed him. He wasn't improving, but he was at least stable.

Until today. When DG went in to see him, he was just laying there and drooling. DG knew something was really wrong when they took him straight to a room instead of to Zam's cage.

I know DG made the right decision in having the vet go ahead and put him down. Zam was suffering, and the vet thinks there may have been a cancer involved, or some other problem they hadn't found yet, because this sort of mass liver failure usually attacks older cats.

What sends me into total hysterics is that DG didn't come home and get me first. I didn't get to say goodbye. I'm mad, I'm furious, I'm hysterical. This was MY cat. I know that he didn't want me to go through it again after Blackthorne, but dammit....

The vet will send his ashes home to us. I need to find the perfect container. If anyone has any ideas, please help, because right now I can't think straight at all.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Letter to the Devil

Dear Lucifer,

I apologize for all of the snow you've been recently inundated with. I realize that your enviroment is not designed for such elaborate amounts of ice and cold, however, while I am sorry for any inconvenience this may be causing you, I must say that the circumstances enabling hell to freeze over have been created by such sadistic virulence that I think you would be proud of me.

You see, I found myself swept up into a massive cleaning spree, and apparently it was contagious in ways that I had never dreamed of. Now while in the past I have been known as a neat freak, and obsessive about keeping things organized (even my 'clutter' is organized, I know where everything is and why it is there), in the past few years I have just simply been unable to maintain my former diligence. I'm certain that the initial light snowfall was little problem for your continued operations, but now I realize that the scale must have increased to a magnitude approaching total shutdown.

Critical mass of hell freezing over, if you will.

While I have not yet been able to infect my rebellious offspring with the cleaning virus as of yet, it has been passed on to one who, for the most part, has spent all the years I've known him as -- well, there's just no kinder, gentler words for it -- a slob. Certainly, the virus has yet to reach complete cellular amplification in his system, for one still cannot walk in the small space along his side of the bed.

However, when one takes into account that he's finally cleared out boxes that have been in place and blocking not only my dresser, but his dresser, his desk, the closet, and the walkway to the bathroom since we moved into this house several years ago, you'll see that there is a more than valid reason why the cold front has set in and you're now having to deep freeze the damned instead of roasting them over pits of lava.

I hope that Hell's version of FEMA is far quicker to respond to your current disaster than ours is, and that your order of snowplows and shovels arrives soon. You may want to add parkas to your purchase order as well (and I do know how difficult it will be to find a manufacturer that takes tails and horns into account, but I'm certain someone with the resources you have available will prevail), for the disease is still progressing with no end in sight.

In closing, while the saying does go that "cleanliness is next to godliness," I would like to point out that conniving, pleading, manipulating, and infecting others into doing half the work for me should still help ensure my position there in the future.

Keep my seat warm.


Wednesday, August 16, 2006

And now for something completely similar

I'm sure I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but at least for now the playback is without all the nasty scratchy sounds.

Had my follow-up appointment with the pain clinic. Unfortunately, my COBRA'd insurance won't pay for PT with that clinic, but they will pay for it elsewhere, so as soon as things settle down a bit with DG's new job, I'll be starting 'occupational therapy' instead of straight old boring PT.

They're also setting me up for biofeedback and meditation to try and help control my response to pain surges, so that I can THINK my way to lower blood pressure and less agony. Taking into account what I've seen about Buddhist monks being able to totally control their bodies through thought -- even body temperature -- it's certainly possible to do it.

Considering the pain psychologist's commentary about me, I believe that to be entirely possible in my case. He said that I was already in the proper mindset for pain management, at a point that he said he usually doesn't see in patients until they've been coming to the clinic for months, so I'm already ahead of the game. Impressed him several times, the weight loss totally blew his mind, and convinced him even more that I was going to be a successful patient. Shiny.

The horrible brain spikes are still absent. This is just amazing, I feel like a totally different person at this point. Sure, I still have normal pain, and the burning throbbing from the RSD, but it's all tolerable pain that I'm used to by now. So long as my head isn't exploding, I can handle just about anything. Still get the dull headaches from the Chiari, but they're tolerable.

And I'm FUNCTIONAL again. I've been out of the house more often since the nerve block than I had in the year before that point. I've totally torn apart and reorganized my office space. Ditto to the bedroom, and not just my side of it, but have most of the rest of it under something resembling control.

It helps the mindset, with everything going on, to see at least SOME sign of organization and control. I may not be able to control everything, but I can control my personal space and sometimes, that's all that matters.

I have a curling iron now for my hair, which has actually been used. My way-too-old makeup has been tossed out, the remainder reorganized, and I actually wear it from time to time. I wear nailpolish again, even though I have to keep my nails ridiculously short because of the way they curve under.

Been reading like a fiend as well. Lots of quantum physics, forensic science (pathology, psychology, crime scene), epidemiology. While my mind still isn't as reliable as it was years ago, without the intense pain it's easier to concentrate and pay attention.

The Things have finally gone back to school, which is an inordinate amount of relief to stress. Kids were starting to drive me screaming up the walls bugnuts insane this summer. They seem to be adjusting pretty well, with few dramatic angsty moments (so far, but you know how teens can be).

"It's life, Jim, but not as we know it."