"Dogs have owners, cats have staff."

Dear reader, I have something shameful to confess. It's difficult for me to admit.

If you're not immediately thinking, "oh shit, she fell off the wagon!" then you don't know alcoholics. That should be the first thing you think of when I say something like "I'm ashamed" "This is hard to admit".

Thankfully, that's not it. I did not fall off the wagon. I'm fully ensconced on the wagon. I'm comfortable here.

No, that's not it. I have to admit......I'm a bad pet owner. I'm neglectful. I should probably be locked up.

Last night, just before laying down to go to sleep, I was petting Elvis and for some reason ran my fingernails the opposite way up his sides. What I found....*sigh*.....was a mat the size of a golf ball.

My first thought was, "oh you poor thing! No wonder you're meowing non-stop! That must hurt like hell!" And my second thought was, "See? This is why I don't have children." My kids would be the ones walking around, needing a haircut, bedhead every day, probably with lice.

How did I not notice this huge mat?!? Because I haven't brushed him in a long while (he looked good so why did he need brushed?) and even though he's old and doesn't bathe himself as much as he used to, he still does...I've seen him do it!

But I should have known better. I should have known. Older cats can't care for themselves as much as they did when they were young. You try contorting your body that way! And what I took for his excessively bony hip was actually the damn mat, buried under a layer of fur.

*sigh*

So even though I was totally ready for bed, I couldn't go to sleep knowing his poor hindquarter was matted. I carried him to the bathroom, cooing to him the whole time (so he'd have no idea what was coming) and deposited him in the tub (after locking Bella out of the bathroom). I took a pair of scissors to his fur and slowly, slowly, slowly cut that mat down as close to the skin as I could get. And not only that one - there were several smaller ones so I just cut all the fur off his hindquarter.

I seriously have the best cat in the world. Yeah, he's blind. Yeah, he meows a lot. Yeah, he's continuing to sneeze all over me. But damn, I couldn't ask for a better cat. He eventually acquiesced in the tub and just laid there, licking my hand, while I cut away at his fur. I know he wanted to bite me. I know cutting that big mat off hurt like hell, but not once did he bare his teeth. Of course, he's probably so old and his teeth so soft, he couldn't bite me, but still.....What a champ.

After letting him recover from this torture, I'm going to slowly cut off all his fur. Maybe tomorrow I'll cut the other hindquarter. Then move my way up and under this body. He'll be cold but he's more than capable of burrowing under the blankets. I say better to be cold than have matted fur.

Damn,  I feel bad. It's a good thing my cats love me no matter what. And me them. Even though Elvis looks like I did when I was 3 and cut off my bangs, I still love him and Bella still tolerates him. You can't ask for more than that from this life.

"Now that the holiday blues are over, let's resume our everyday melancholy."

Dad's last Sunday preaching was yesterday.

Receiving gift from congregation

Look like I'm photo-bombing my parents.

Dad w/ confirmation kids.

He's officially retired and they've both officially left the little hamlet for warmer climes. I don't know why. Sixty degrees in January sounds pretty good, right? I guess I can share them with my older brother & his family for a few months. I get them the rest of the year!

So this morning, I woke up all anxious and ready to bury my head under the covers. Not that I had any reason to be anxious, really. Even though Ma & Pa are miles away, they're still taking care of me. I have people in town I can call if anything goes wrong. I already have Elvis' burial plot planned. It isn't like this shit's going to fall apart as soon as Mom & Dad leave.

It just feels weird to have that safety net be so far away. Seriously. What am I going to do when they're really gone? Not to be morbid or anything, but seriously! How can I do "life" without them? Ah hell, a person just figures it out eventually, don't they?

Anywhoo, I woke up this morning, anxious, and realized I had to get my ass outside, walking. If I'm going to maintain my sanity, I can't bury my head under the covers. I can't stay in bed all day. I have to get the endorphins flowing so that's what I did....and the anxiety melted away. And now, my legs, feet & ankles hurt so bad, I'm going to go cuddle with Elvis. But it's a good hurt, ya know? Not like the hurt my aunt Hope is feeling after slipping on some ice & breaking her wrist. Ouch! We're a family of fallers.

Elvis is still sick but seems to be getting better. He's not leaking tears as bad as he was, though he's still spitting snot all over the place. Lovely. And he's still blind, so there's that. Bella's trainable!! I was considering changing her name to Miss Piggy since she doesn't answer to "Bella" anyway, but I got so annoyed by her ignoring me when I called her, I've tricked her into answering my call....with treats. When she's in my closet or upstairs and refuses to come to me so I can close doors, all I have to say is "Do you want a TREAT?" and she practically bowls me over to get to it. It took one time for her to figure it out. She's a genius. Or really, really hungry. I may be contributing to her weight gain but I don't much care. It's nice to know she has a brain in her tiny little head.

"Cats seem to go on the principle that it never does any harm to ask for what you want." -- Joseph Wood Krutch

I just wish I knew what the hell he was asking for!

Pardon me, I've been awake all night listening to Elvis sneeze & spew spittle all over me and, more annoyingly, this:

What the hell could he possibly want at 3:00 AM! And for all hours after! I've given him more food (he had plenty). I've refreshed his water. I've pet him. I've tried to get him to lay down under the covers. I've cajoled, sweet-talked, yelled, groaned in misery....I don't know what else to do. He just keeps going - like the Energizer Bunny but waaaaaaaay more annoying. I've seriously contemplated giving him a light knock on the head, just to lose consciousness for a few hours so I can sleep!

I can't take much more.

And then I see how his eyes are watering and he's sneezing like mad and I pity him. He gets a cold every damn year, so this isn't anything unusual, except that this year he's blind. But aren't you supposed to sleep a cold away? If only.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

On another note, to celebrate Mom's birthday on Tuesday, we went to see "Unbroken". Very good movie, but when a person gets the feeling she has to pee about 1/2 way through.....go. Because the movie will seem like it's never. going. to. end. It was pretty long, but it also kept my attention....even though I thought my bladder was going to burst.

Today I'm heading to the library to reprise my role as "photographer". Little girls are going to be having a "Frozen" party and....aren't I lucky? LOL. I really don't mind and part of me enjoys it. At least I'm doing something.  AND, bonus, I get away from Elvis' incessant meowing for a couple of hours. I may sleep at Mom & Dad's tonight.

Oh, and Dad saved the day.....again! He brought me a new (old) charger for my Kindle and it seems to be holding the charge better than the one I was using. Yeah!

I think I'm going to go try to sleep. Any suggestions to get Elvis to shut-up would be greatly appreciated. Nothing I do is working......*sigh* He reminds me of an Alzheimer's patient who just kind of wanders around talking to himself. I do not make a good nurse. I think we all knew that....but now there's confirmation.

"You have a disagreeable duty to do at twelve o'clock. Do not blacken nine and ten and eleven, and all between, with the color of twelve." -George Macdonald

Well holy shitballs. The next time I want to take a month off from exercising, please kick my ass, tell me to suck it up, remind me of how horribly awfully out-of-shape I will quickly become.

I stopped eating M&M's & any-&-all desserts on December 28. It's been 3 weeks exactly. I thought I lost a pound (ONE!) but I was wrong. I haven't lost any pounds. I know exactly where all 140 pounds are located. On this fat ass!

Now, granted, I didn't gain any weight in 3 weeks, so there is that....but dammit, if I'm going to give up something so deliciously awesome, there should be some sort of bonus, right?!?

I remind myself, I didn't exercise at all those entire 3 weeks, either. Part of me was just sick of it all. Part of me was pissed that I wasn't seeing any benefit, so what was the point? Part of me just wanted to sit on my fat ass and do nothing. Part of me figured if I was giving up the M&M's, the weight would just melt off my body and I'd be slender again without having to lift a single weight.

I was living in some sort of fantasy land.....obviously. Unicorns and rainbows and puppies and fat-free-lollipops.

So this afternoon, for some unknown reason (because we all know I'm pretty worthless in the afternoon - you want anything done, catch me in the a.m.....and only between the hours of 9 & Noon) I got off my ass, put on my workout clothes and went at it.

I about threw up. I'm coughing up a lung. I told Bella to dial 9-1-1.

*Pause* Speaking of Bella and opposable thumbs; after watching Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, boy am I glad my cats have brains the size of peas and can't wield a gun. Whew.

I survived.

I'm supposed to go play volleyball tomorrow with Shan (my "disagreeable duty"). I'm pretty sure I'll be standing in one spot and letting the youngsters dive for the ball.

We all know I have no shame.....and while I'm anything but an exhibitionist (puh-leeze! I barely open my curtains!) I'm posting pictures of my body as of today. This is what 140 lbs looks like. Prepare yourself. Grab your puke-bucket. Maybe put on some rose-colored glasses.

Look at Bella. I imagine she's thinking it's probably a good thing she doesn't have opposable thumbs either - I'd probably make her take my picture. And thank goodness my closet is a bit dark and my phone takes crappy pictures. I seriously look like I'm pregnant. At least then I'd have an excuse.

I'm posting these to hold myself accountable in the weeks to come - eating less, eating better and moving more. It's simple, right? As far as I'm concerned, this is Day 1. January 17, 2015. From here on out, if I'm not losing weight, fuck it - bring on the M&M's! (I don't really mean that. It was incredibly difficult to stop (almost as hard as giving up the booze) so I'm going to do my best to never eat another M&M for as long as I live! Sorry M&M's)

And here's some news on Elvis: he's still blind and I'm still a horrible mother and here's proof.

Oh, there's a wall, oh, there's a door, oh there's the other wall, oh there's the door again - where are you trying to go?!? I'll take you there!!!!  I think you can hear the frustration in my voice. For the last few days, even though the weather is warmer outside, Elvis has managed to make his own way under the bed-covers and stay there for 8-9 hours. I don't know how he doesn't suffocate, but I'm ok with leaving him there to sleep if that's what he wants (& it gives me a reprieve from feeling awful about his situation....)

And here's beautiful, beastly Bella. I'm thinking of renaming her Miss Piggy since she doesn't answer to Bella anyway.

"Religion is the theological equivalent of a quick-buck insurance scam, where you pay in your premium year after year, and then, when you need the benefits you paid for so –pardon the pun- so religiously, you discover the company that took your money does not, in fact, exist.” - Rev. Charles Daniel Jacobs, "Revival" by Stephen King

I promised a post on my TV, Movie & Book Commentary and while I'm trying to do three things at once (download CD's to I-tunes, chat with Amazon about my poor USB/Kindle connection and lack of charge and post to you, dear reader) I'll do my best to make this witty. It may be peppered with some cuss words along the way if things don't go smoothly. And so far, I'm sad my Kindle appears to be going down the drain and there's no solution to the problem. Well, I got along without it before; I'm sure I can get along without it again. Shooty pooty.

So! On to something fun & entertaining.....or sad & boring....or disgusting & disturbing....

I watch Celebrity Apprentice. I don't know why. I can't stand Donald Trump and his arrogance and he obviously has "favorites" who can do no wrong, so what's the point, really? Why doesn't he just hand the award to Geraldo (who is the biggest asshole I've seen on t.v. Must be why Trump favors him.) and be done with it? I really need to stop watching it because it puts me in a pretty foul mood....and that's why I was o.k. with flipping between CA and The Bachelor. I'm not a fan of The Bachelor. I don't think I've watched a single episode, but they caught my attention with last week's previews of 1. a drunk woman wanting to make out 2. a chick falling on her way to get a rose and 3. another chick going bat-shit crazy. Why do those make me want to watch? Because it shows me how stupid I looked/look and never want to again. And, honestly, I think we all feel this way - it makes us feel as if we're not so bad. At least I didn't fall on my bum on national television.

If I ever, ever, I mean EVER, watch The Bachelor again, you have my permission to taunt, berate, belittle me on whatever social media you choose. What a degrading show! These seemingly intelligent women become stupid little girls with no brains when a pretty man comes along. They fawn over him (which is the point, obviously, of The Bachelor), they make out with him when he's done so with 20 other women the same evening, they giggle stupidly and scream even more stupidly (I hate screaming women)...is it any wonder most of these "match-ups" end in "never-marriages"? Ugh. Made me want to puke. And I missed the damn part where the chick goes bat-shit crazy. That was the whole point of flipping to that channel! Shit.

On to a movie note: I have no problem saying Vin Diesel is possibly the worst actor of my time.

He was a bad actor when he started and he sure-as-shit hasn't gotten any better. So when I checked out "Guardians of the Galaxy" from the library and saw that Vin was "Groot", I figured I'd hate the movie just on principle. I hate lots of things on principle - anything Anne Hathaway is in or Maggie Grace or Bill Pullman - UGH! - Hobby Lobby, Chick-fil-a, Al Roker, Robin Roberts, the list could go on & on. BUT, this one was a surprise. Might be the best movie Vin Diesel has ever done and the best part for him. He should only do parts like "Groot" from now on.....Because he's only the voice of a tree (so you don't have to see him) and he only has 5 words to learn. Perfect part for Vin, and yes, I did love the movie, surprisingly.

I also checked out "Dawn of The Planet of the Apes" - also good - and "Lone Survivor" for the second time. Lone Survivor has to be the best current war movie out there. It's got action, death, love for the characters, survival - everything. I cry every damn time I watch it but it evokes such passion in me regarding the war, I have to be careful not to get carried away. I imagine this is what "American Sniper" will be like - I won't be able to watch it in the theater because I'll probably cry the whole time and then I'll get pissed. To not say anything I'll regret, I'm going to move on to books. I'm afraid I'll wind up somebody's target.

I was ecstatic to see my library had Stephen King's new book, "Revival". I had no idea what it was about - didn't even know he had a new book out - but it didn't matter. I snatched that sucker up like there was a stampede of people behind me ready to rip it from my hands. There weren't, sadly. I don't know what it is about Stephen King and his writing, but he is my all time, hands down, without-a-doubt favorite author. He transports me into his books and that's exactly where I want to be. I'd like to live inside his head for a day. I think I'd probably need long-term psychiatric care afterward, but I'm pretty much on that path already so what's the diff? The book did not disappoint. In fact, I want to read it again...

My aunt Hope gave me "I Am Pilgrim" by Terry Hayes to read on my Kindle (glad I read it while the Kindle was still able to charge!) It's one of those books that leave you wanting more at the end of each chapter. It got a bit annoying after a bit (constant cliffhangers wear me out!), but that didn't stop me from reading more & more & more....and it had such a satisfying ending. I like it when things are wrapped in nice, pretty bows.

Well, the news about my Kindle is this: "We'll give you a discount on a refurbished model to fix your problem!" I even played the "B-b-b-but I'm unemployed and have no money!" card. It didn't work. So looks like I'm going to go spend an hour standing at my Kindle/charger, wiggling the damn thing until the fit is just perfect and will charge. Sounds like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. This one is too loose! This one is too far to the left! This one is too far to the right! This one is juuuuuuuust right....until it moves a centimeter and then it's not. Pissed.

So that Vin Diesel isn't the only picture on this blog - here's another of something good:

"Into the dark night/ Resignedly I go,/ I am not so afraid of the dark night/ As the friends I do not know,/ I do not fear the night above,/ As I fear the friends below." -Steve Smith, "Dirge"

I had a lot to blog about last night as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. I wrote the entire blog in my head. But after the dreams/nightmares I had last night, I can't remember a damn thing.

I've been having whacked out dreams for well over a week now. At first I thought it was because I miss some doses of my evening pill sometimes. That would have been plausible had I forgotten my pill last night, but it's missing from its "Monday" slot, so I know I took it. No, now I think my whacked out dreams are being caused by the Wholly Guacamole I've been eating for supper. Speaking of which, I'd buy stock in that shit because It. Is. De-lic-ious! However, I'm seriously going to have to weigh the benefits (deliciousness) of the guac vs. the costs of bad dreams.

Seriously. I woke up after the first one and said to the cats surrounding me in my bed, "You can't un-see that shit" as I rubbed my eyes trying to rub the image off my retinas. It didn't work. I'm still pondering the dream this morning and just trying not to gag & vomit because of it. You'd think the dream after that one would wipe the first from my memory because the second one was just as disturbing, only in a different way. Nope. Didn't work.

Dreaming about moving to T for school (which was true) but then moving back to W (which wasn't true) and taking blind Elvis with me on my first day back to school (even in my dream, at the end, I realized this was a bad idea), losing him several times, having classmates treat him horribly (someone wrapped tape around him to tape on a sign - wish I could remember what it said....probably good that I can't), him trembling and scared and me feeling sick for causing him hurt. *sigh* If only that dream was bad enough to wipe out the first....but it wasn't.

The first one was so terrible, I don't think I can even repeat it. I'll try to in a round-about way because I think it's important - the feelings, at least, were important. I've done one particular thing in my life many, many times and sometimes when I didn't even want to but I did anyway because I.......don't know why. I read this quote in a book, "The Dark Room" by Minette Walters : "Nobody ever taught me how to tell others to piss off." In my early years and somewhat still to this day, I have a problem standing up for myself, for saying No, for telling others to piss off. That's what happened in my dream. I did something I didn't really want to do and felt disgusted with myself - so much so, I was close to vomiting when I woke up. Even in my dream, I yelled at a woman, "But I didn't even want to!" and felt even more sick of myself.

It's going to take awhile for this dream to wear off.

I think part of it has to do with going through my scrapbook box on Sunday. I hauled the box downstairs and withdrew the bulging scrapbook from the box and leafed through it for an hour (in which time, Elvis made his way upstairs - isn't he so brave? - and then got stuck in a corner and couldn't find his way out. *sigh*). Going through that scrapbook, I thought, "Wow, I really did a lot of good stuff" (tainted by bad, of course). I wonder, Who was that person and where did she go? What happened to her? Why did she go away?

We all change as we age, but I feel like I've become a totally different person. I wouldn't do half the shit I did in high school & college & after NOW. Is that called maturity? Or depression? It's too much for me to ponder this morning because my thoughts are still tainted by the awful dream so everything will be tainted and I won't be so positive in my outlook. It's very easy to slip into depression. I won't do it today.

On another note, I've remembered what I was going to blog about - TV, Movie & Book Commentary. I was on a roll about "The Bachelor" and "The Celebrity Apprentice" and "Guardians of the Galaxy" and "Lone Survivor" and "Revival" by Stephen King and "I Am Pilgrim" by Terry Hayes....but you'll have to wait for another day when I'm feeling like my witty-self. Today isn't that day.

They should add a disclaimer to the Wholly Guacamole container: May cause whacked out dreams

"The busy have no time for tears."

A while ago I mentioned that I have boxes of stuff from my life that I've (Mom) kept over the years. I wondered why the hell I keep that stuff (journals, a tiara from prom?, t-shirts, scrapbooks, etc, etc, etc) and what would happen to it when I die. (Burn it, please) I've been thinking about those boxes since then and wondered what I really had in them. Anything useful? Anything I could put to use today?

So this morning, Bella & I trekked upstairs and I spent an hour on the floor upstairs going through two boxes. One was full of journals from 1989-1992. I couldn't read them all. They were just too depressing. My mom has said she thinks I've been bipolar since childhood. Reading those journals, I can't argue with that. Man. I was seriously boy-crazy. I mean, I can't even count the number of guys I mention in those journals. Some I had completely forgotten about. And college! I can't even remember 1/2 their damn names! And my 20's! There are too many to count. Too, too many. There have to be around 70, because, truthfully, I've tried to remember and count and that's the number I come up with. And you know how many men I've dated in the last 9 years? One. One! And it's going to stay that way, if I have anything to say about it. I cannot handle that craziness and madness. I can barely contain the craziness and madness of my own - adding another person to it increases all of it exponentially. No. No thank you.

What was pleasant & interesting to me, going through all those notebooks is this:

I titled most of my entries with a quote. 

I forgot I'd done that. And the number of poems and quotes I collected at that age is remarkable. Not that I wrote any of them myself, but still, what a collection. Apparently I have no original thoughts and need to pilfer from great people. I'll take it.

I could only go through two small boxes because I closed all the vents upstairs so Mom & Dad wouldn't have to pay to heat it - needless to say, I'm freezing and can't stop shaking and am amazed my fingers work enough to type. I think the rest of the boxes can wait for a warmer day.....

But before I sign off, I just want to say how grateful I am to my parents who put up with my madness and did their best to keep me on the straight & narrow (impossible task, really) and praise the FSM that today, at least, I feel sane.

January 1989

"I'm picking out the wine for the family dinner...let's see, which one goes with nuts?" -Maxine

My brother woke me up this morning with a text picture of his cat laying on top of the new fireplace/tv-stand. It was adorable.

I couldn't get the picture of the cat from my cell to my computer so here's one with the boys.

I sent him this, in return, for waking me up:

I told him his picture was nice, but I woke up looking like Wolverine so....





He asked if I'd tried to cut myself to see if I'd heal quickly. I told him I was too distracted by my hair.  We're comedians.

I napped on the couch yesterday afternoon. It's too much to nap in my bed with Elvis. He was sleeping, anyway, and I didn't want to distract him. However, I was distracted by this:

Seriously. I don't even know how that's comfortable. She's smushed between me & the couch. She stayed that way a helluva long time, too, so she must have enjoyed it. I hardly have a bed anymore because Elvis curls up under the covers right next to me and Bella lays on top of the covers, pretty much on top of me. The problem is, I move a lot when I sleep (or can't sleep) and they both crowd me so much, I'm afraid I'm going to crush Elvis and Bella's so damn fat, I can't move the covers. *sigh* My life is so difficult, isn't it? :)

I'm proud to say, I'm on day 7 of no sweets, chocolate, peanut butter, desserts, cake, pie, frosting, and most importantly, M&M's. I'm not going to weigh myself because I'm pretty sure I'll be disappointed. The thing is, as soon as I cut all that crap out, I stopped working out. It's as if my subconscious decided if I wasn't eating the stuff that makes me fat, I don't need to work out. We know that's a big mistake, right? So I figured I'd start again this morning. Nope. Didn't happen. I dyed my hair and did laundry instead. I'll start tomorrow...or the next day...or the next. I miss my peanut butter M&M's.

"Hope there's somebody around tomorrow to tell me if I had a HAPPY NEW YEAR!" -Maxine

In the dark of night, when everything's quiet and I'm trying to drift off to sleep but can't because my blind cat keeps falling off the damn bed, things can look pretty bleak. I pretty much wrote Elvis' eulogy in my head last night after waking up to him trying to get out from under the covers and almost going off the side of the bed (if not for my protective arms....and shouts of alarm). I realized last night, as selfish a person as I am, I'm pretty selfless when it comes to the pets that I love. I don't want to spend daylight hour upon hour in my bedroom, but I do because it's Elvis. It's Elvis. He's been my companion for almost 13 years (I got him when he was 4). He's played fetch. He's driven me crazy dragging my clothes, shoes and full laundry basket to his food dish. He's amazed me by opening cupboards and drawers. He continues to amaze me by adapting to his blindness. He's kept me warm and licked my hair and given me happiness. He needs me and I'd do just about anything for him.

Can you imagine what it's like? To suddenly go blind? And to be deaf? And mute? If he were a human, it'd be so much easier. We can at least say, "I want to go to the bathroom. I want you to hold me." He can't. I have to guess what he wants. Most of the time, I just leave him alone to wander, disoriented, running into everything around the house because I can't figure out what he wants. It's damn sad. I can't imagine how scared he must feel. I wish I could keep him off the bed because he gives me a heart attack every time he thinks there's more bed to walk on and there isn't and he goes stumbling to the floor. I have rugs all around the bed to break his fall. They don't really do much. I thought, last night, I'd get all my extra pillows and surround the bed. But then they'd be filthy dirty and would probably only hinder his attempts to jump onto the bed...so, really, I'm not that selfless. I just imagine him falling off the bed, not being able to correct mid-air and breaking his hips, legs, back, whatever and me...bawling. I'd just bawl.

But then....he amazes me with his resiliency. He's only gone crashing off the bed a few times. I'm usually there to correct him or he sticks his landing. He's Elvis-Lou-Retton. He finds his food and water. He finds the litter box. Granted, I can't move anything or change anything because then he does get disoriented, but still...to remember where everything is? Amazing. To be able to navigate the bed? Amazing. To be so trusting of me? Amazing.

If it were me, I'd curl up into a ball in my bed and never move. Bring me a bed pan! This is going to get messy! I could take some lessons from Elvis.

Blind Elvis

The closest Bella & Elvis have been. (Elvis is the lump under the covers.)