Once again, I make plans and the universe laughs its arse off… you really thought it would be that easy? That simple?... and erupts into a maniacal howling convulsion.
Have often thought that perhaps all the decisions we make, the good, the bad, and even the downright ugly, coalesce into one giant hand, and slap us up side the head, knocking us off our path, forcing us to take a time out… just for fun, like a bored aristocrat, having fun at the expense of his peasants.
Not so much punishment, more of a forced re-evaluation, as we struggle back to whatever it was we were doing, or thought we were doing.
You know? Lying there in the ditch, looking up at the stars, shaking our head to break the spell, to find again the real from the fake sparkle swirling, wondering if this is where we’re supposed to be.
With all the pie-in-the-sky, positive spin muster, this would seem to be where I am.
Dang, and rat fink, shite, the surgery to remove my munchers will not happen… or not happen today, this week. And, so, I am forced to stand by while the powers that be decide my fate.
Doc at the clinic, cause she’s only seen me once, will not give the green light to the Dentist to do the surgery. So, I wait.
There are other options, such as if I can instead do the surgery in hospital, which would mean it could be done thru OHIP. Even though I just wanted to get the whole show on the road, what I may want is friggin irrelevant, try as I might to make my past decisions, choices made out of fear, trying to make them right is not going to be quite so easy, and of course more costly.
Like, maybe the f’n Universe thinks I’m wealthy? Which, boggles my mind, since it would seem as though it has at every turn made sure I’m not. As every decision I’ve ever made went extinct, as every goal on the near horizon showed itself to be merely a mirage, tick tock, my teeth rot in my head.
After I got the news, as much as there may have been a tinge of relief, I was frustrated. I had prepared myself, mentally I was ready, but no. No. Course not. Why should I be able to get off so easily?
Those demons of the past, the leftover stench of my fear, quipping… not so fast, deary, not so fast… you WILL pay.
Does, in a way feel like punishment. I just want to get it all over with, and move on. But no, course not, why should it be that easy? Why should I be allowed to get it all over and done with so easily?
You really do have to just blawdy scream… IT’S NOT FAIR. But, life is never fair, never quite what you thought it would be, never ever.
I am hoping it will turn out for the best, in the end. It could happen, but I’m not holding too tightly to that, as more than likely it just might mean the worst, and this whole enterprise will cost more out-of-pocket, and I’ll be in debt, and piled on like a dragons’ hoard, so that I am forced to make decisions based on what I HAVE to do, rather than what I WANT to do.
Which, of course, I was desperately trying to avoid.
Debt and I are old friends, we go a long way. Even if I have tried my best to ignore, maybe I’m just doomed to drag it around, the universe just piling it on, more and more, dragging me down. Tis my fate?
Feeling a bit down, mom. Feeling rather frustrated and overwhelmed. After all the running around, the phone calls, the doing, thinking, planning, trying as hard as I can to make it all right… I don’t know… maybe it will turn out better.
Dad and MsB are coming up for a visit Sunday, and so it would be nice to have them here. Lex is so busy with running around for hockey and work, that she was not going to have alot of time this weekend. So, all for the best?
Good gawd and Gandalf, I blawdy hope so.
So, the list of things I have to do, must do, it lengthens, grows, as more and more is added on. Gawd alone knows, maybe I deserve to be punished for eternity for wanting back even some semblance of that once ‘pretty’ smile.
Cat o’nine tails, whipping me eternally for my audacity. Nothing is ever simple. Nothing straightforward. Make a couple wrong moves, couple decisions based on fear… and everything just becomes more difficult, as the universe punishes you… over and over again…gleefully.
Plan A – dead. Plan B – dead… and so, Plan C. I had planned on getting this done this year, but the whole job ending thing just moved it all forward, and now I’m on a schedule, and only have so much time to take advantage of my benefits. Tick tock. Feeling anxious, and I hate waiting. One’s mind wanders, and so I lie here in the ditch, looking at the stars, wondering at my fate. Tick tock.
Ya, sorry, dark and dismal.
Tried to not even think about it yesterday. Told the people who had to know… Lex, Sue… etc… and then just spent the day stewing in my own juices… ready for the storm ahead… standing in the hallway with my jacket and mitts, toque on, for nothing.
So, whilst I write this, a pint-size packet of puppy is leaping, jumping, pinging straight up in the air, at my elbow, trying to get my attention… who I named Pika.
She came along around the time Irish was in her last days, just this last fall. Thinking a pup would give her some fresh energy, a companion whilst I was at work, so she was not spending her days on her own.
At first I thought it worked, as her energy did seem to return, the look in her eyes brightened, but it was only temporary.
One day after work I came home to her sprawled out in the kitchen in a pool of her own urine and poo, her eyes dark and sad, and I knew.
Wee Pika had made her last days more…um… comical… as she dragged this brown daemon ninja weasel into the kitchen, hanging from her golden locks on her belly. I guess those lovely golden curls of my Irish lassie were too pretty to ignore, and the little Chihuahua had to think maybe this giant golden doggo was some kind of God.
So, almost 3 monthes on since Irish is gone, Pika and I have formed a strong bond, and she is the one jumping jumping jumping at my elbow to get up on my lap.
I refused her, so now she’s decided to instead lay right on the heat vent… cause…unlike my golden one who LOVED the cold, this wee one loves the warmth.
While Irish was generally calm and gentle, sweet and kind, Pika is as night to day. Young, exuberant, fearless, and at this point in her development would rather bite you than lick, prefers a nip to a kiss.
When Lex first laid eyes upon her, the response was… oh my god, I think I’m lactating… at this cute gigantic eared, dark brown fur, almost hazel googly eyed Chihuahua.
And you know mom, her fur is almost the same dark lustrous brown as your hair. So much darker than mine own, with the same sheen. I often stroke her fur, and think of you. Though, you would never ever let us touch your perfectly coiffed hair.
Her little head is about the size of my fist, and after some more tossing of Stink (squeaky toy) cross the kitchen, she is now sound asleep snoring beside me.
What I love about her, is she is the size of a cat, but I can take her with me, go for those long walks I love, and just pick her up and stuff her in my bag when she’s cold, or otherwise, allowing me to continue on at pace without having to sniff every dang blade of grass… as Irish.
Pika is not so interested in the sniffs, the neighbourhood news doth not interest her as keenly as it did my ol’Irish, and walks are a happy jaunt, and I control the pace and place and I can just stuff her in my bag if she’s being annoyingly slow.
Certainly, as much as Irish would have LOVED to be stuffed in a bag, carried everywhere with me, and spend her days snoring on my lap, alas she was rather too large for that.
The saga of the toothless grin continues at a slower pace, stalled, yet I shall keep you abreast of the updates, write again on the weekend, perhaps.