I just got a call from Tim's number; Squeaky, though, was the one who made the call. "Gladys?" she said, her voice shaking a little. "Cassidy just died, just now. And Tim's freaking out. Do you wanna talk to him?" she asked.
"If he wants to talk," I said, and she handed him the phone.
I don't know what he said, actually; he was crying so hard I couldn't make out a word. I did manage to hear him say "I gotta go now", and then he hung up.
And so I cried for a while too, and hugged all my cats, and cried some more, and fed them, and cried some more. And then just as I was getting calmed down Squeaky called to ask me if I could go with Tim tomorrow to have the cat cremated, and she told me some details I really, REALLY REALLY could have lived without, and now I'm crying again.
You know, how sometimes, when an animal lives to an old age, you can always comfort yourself by saying "Well, he had a good long life..." Cassidy, though--Cassidy didn't have a good long life. He had a crappy long life, moved around and uncertain and sometimes just terrible, and from what Squeaky said he had a crappy, painful death as well, and I want to say it's not Tim's fault but it sorta is, and it makes me angry, but mostly it just makes me incredibly sad.
I'm not going with Tim tomorrow. I'm turning off my phones tonight; I don't want to know, or hear, anymore than I already have. Mostly I just want to be here in my place, with my cats, who I love as best I know how. I wish I could have done more, though; I always wish I could do more.
Rest in peace, Cassidy--finally, in peace.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
I'm Smarter Than I Think
So Tim and Squeaky, still broken up (I guess) are still cohabiting--if "when one walks in the other hands them the baby and walks out, often for days at a time" can be referred to as "cohabitation". Tim called me last night (at 11:30, 12:45, and 4 AM...on a work-night....before my earliest morning of the week....) and, among other things, told me that Squeaky had not been home for four days, and that a week or two ago she turned to him and told him that she was "sick of LittleMan". The kid isn't even four months old yet, and already his mother is leaving him at home with his father and staying out for days. Tim, who is not at his peak for many reasons, threatened last night to drop the baby off at DCFS and tell them the mother abandoned her child--and then walk out on both of them.
I would normally want to strangle him for at least ten reasons in just those sentences alone, but I am cutting him the most infinitesimal bit of slack for a crucial reason: Cassidy, his 15-year-old cat who has been with Tim for as long as I've known him, is dying, and Tim can't even do anything about it. When Tim told me the details, at the end of one of the phone calls--I'll spare you all from them--but when I hung up the phone, I cried for literally an hour. Poor Cassidy; he was such a good boy, and it breaks my heart that he's hurting. (I told Tim to take him to the vet not TERRIBLY far from where he lives, and I'd call in and take care of the bill for having Cass put down; but of course, Tim can't leave til Squeaky returns, and there's some drama involving Squeaky's phone, and blah blah blah--because Squeaky wants to be an immature little brat, Cassidy gets to hurt for another day, and Tim gets to hurt as he watches his beloved cat waste away. I really want to punch Squeaky right now.
And then there's Deb; the thing we were most afraid of has pretty much happened, and she's in a bad case of postpartum depression. I'm so worried for her--she sounds so sad, even though she can explain from an intellectual standpoint exactly what she's feeling and why. And her husband is NOT helping; he's choosing to stay out later than he has to; when he WAS home, he had the flu and was acting like a whiny baby the whole time. I do not understand certain men.
I understand CR a little better, though; he's been amazing, incredible, wonderful--and the only thing he HASN'T done is make it into town. If the snow would maybe manage to stop happening every three days alternating between here and there, perhaps progress would be made in this area as well. But we talk via IM every night, and we've pretty much worked out everything in the past that went wrong.
But right now, honestly, I'm just pretty glad to be me. Compared to all the things my friends and loved ones are going through at the moment, a messy house and a pile of laundry the size of Mount McKinley are practically comforting. And if I needed anything to confirm my judgement, both Tim and Squeaky with their cabin fever, and Deb with her hormones kicking her ass and her stitches in a Really Bad Place, have reminded me how much I really do NOT want to go through the whole having-a-baby thing. I guess from a philosophical/dream world standpoint, I'll always wonder what might have been; but from a practical, about-to-turn-40-and-none-too-stable-my-damn-self perspective, I've made the best decision for me.
I would normally want to strangle him for at least ten reasons in just those sentences alone, but I am cutting him the most infinitesimal bit of slack for a crucial reason: Cassidy, his 15-year-old cat who has been with Tim for as long as I've known him, is dying, and Tim can't even do anything about it. When Tim told me the details, at the end of one of the phone calls--I'll spare you all from them--but when I hung up the phone, I cried for literally an hour. Poor Cassidy; he was such a good boy, and it breaks my heart that he's hurting. (I told Tim to take him to the vet not TERRIBLY far from where he lives, and I'd call in and take care of the bill for having Cass put down; but of course, Tim can't leave til Squeaky returns, and there's some drama involving Squeaky's phone, and blah blah blah--because Squeaky wants to be an immature little brat, Cassidy gets to hurt for another day, and Tim gets to hurt as he watches his beloved cat waste away. I really want to punch Squeaky right now.
And then there's Deb; the thing we were most afraid of has pretty much happened, and she's in a bad case of postpartum depression. I'm so worried for her--she sounds so sad, even though she can explain from an intellectual standpoint exactly what she's feeling and why. And her husband is NOT helping; he's choosing to stay out later than he has to; when he WAS home, he had the flu and was acting like a whiny baby the whole time. I do not understand certain men.
I understand CR a little better, though; he's been amazing, incredible, wonderful--and the only thing he HASN'T done is make it into town. If the snow would maybe manage to stop happening every three days alternating between here and there, perhaps progress would be made in this area as well. But we talk via IM every night, and we've pretty much worked out everything in the past that went wrong.
But right now, honestly, I'm just pretty glad to be me. Compared to all the things my friends and loved ones are going through at the moment, a messy house and a pile of laundry the size of Mount McKinley are practically comforting. And if I needed anything to confirm my judgement, both Tim and Squeaky with their cabin fever, and Deb with her hormones kicking her ass and her stitches in a Really Bad Place, have reminded me how much I really do NOT want to go through the whole having-a-baby thing. I guess from a philosophical/dream world standpoint, I'll always wonder what might have been; but from a practical, about-to-turn-40-and-none-too-stable-my-damn-self perspective, I've made the best decision for me.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Just A Flat-Out Happy
Deb had her baby!!! TinyGirl, who will get a proper blog-name once I meet her, was born around 3 PM this afternoon, and is, to quote Deb, "just as precious as she can be."
And of course, there's supposed to be a blizzard tonight and all day tomorrow, so I probably won't get to meet her til Thursday; but still.
I'd sent MisterDeb (who needs HIS own blog-name too, since it appears he's gonna stick around, thank heavens--it's absolutely PAST time for Deb to get some happiness in her life) all my phone numbers--both work numbers, the home number, Mom's home number, and the number for my cell phone which is now off anyhow--just so I could hear when TinyGirl arrived; Deb had told me that she was going to be induced today at 7 AM, so when I hadn't heard from her by 5:00, I was beginning to get kinda nervous. And it did not help in any way that my desk phone, which normally rings about once a week on a busy week, chose today to ring completely off the hook. But not long after I got home, I got a call from Deb herself; talking in whispers because they had just gotten TinyGirl to sleep. She sounded extremely happy, even at the lowest possible volume.
I usually hope that blizzards really hit us hard, but I'm really REALLY hoping this one misses us pretty thoroughly. I want to meet my little niece, and get started in my role as Crazy Aunt Gladys...oh, and get a picture, for my desk at work.
After all, you can only have so many pictures of your cats before your co-workers start to have uncharitable suspicions about you.
And of course, there's supposed to be a blizzard tonight and all day tomorrow, so I probably won't get to meet her til Thursday; but still.
I'd sent MisterDeb (who needs HIS own blog-name too, since it appears he's gonna stick around, thank heavens--it's absolutely PAST time for Deb to get some happiness in her life) all my phone numbers--both work numbers, the home number, Mom's home number, and the number for my cell phone which is now off anyhow--just so I could hear when TinyGirl arrived; Deb had told me that she was going to be induced today at 7 AM, so when I hadn't heard from her by 5:00, I was beginning to get kinda nervous. And it did not help in any way that my desk phone, which normally rings about once a week on a busy week, chose today to ring completely off the hook. But not long after I got home, I got a call from Deb herself; talking in whispers because they had just gotten TinyGirl to sleep. She sounded extremely happy, even at the lowest possible volume.
I usually hope that blizzards really hit us hard, but I'm really REALLY hoping this one misses us pretty thoroughly. I want to meet my little niece, and get started in my role as Crazy Aunt Gladys...oh, and get a picture, for my desk at work.
After all, you can only have so many pictures of your cats before your co-workers start to have uncharitable suspicions about you.
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Horror: Part Two
This one just makes me want to cry, or possibly put my head through the wall. The only--the ONLY--positive thing I can say about this is, at least it wasn't her mom's mother's female parent's idea.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
4 AM Updates
For the third time tonight, I just got off the phone with Tim.
Call #1 was a two-hour catching-up call, with the occasional Squeaky-related complaint, but no signs of anything critical.
(Anyone got a guess on where this might be heading?)
Call #2, at midnight, waking me from a sound sleep, was to ask me what I thought about the following: Squeaky had called early today asking Tim if he minded if she went to her friend Malia's for a while. Then a bit later, she had called to tell him that she wasn't going to be home at 6 after all, that she and Malia were going to an 8:00 movie. And as of midnight, Squeaky STILL wasn't home, and wasn't answering her phone, and was he right to be annoyed? And did I think she was okay, or was he worrying about nothing??
Call #3, at 3 AM: "G? Squeaky just came in with the cops and took the baby and left."
I asked him, in about four different ways, what had led up to that point, and each time I got the same answer: when the phone was finally answered, it was Malia who answered, and of course Tim doesn't like Malia and was not exactly polite, but when he talked to Squeaky he had not (per him) said anything that would be construed as threatening. (Now frankly, I don't care who said what to whom; Squeaky knows Tim well enough to know that there are two, and only two, excuses for her to involve the cops: either a) he ACTUALLY puts his hands on her (not "threatens to" because the two of them threaten horrible murder ten times a day and both of them know better) or b) he ACTUALLY sets about injuring himself. (Questions of safety involving the baby are past consideration; he loves that child beyond imagination.)
Tim is now threatening his own life--though he's promised not to act on that til at least tomorrow night, and most likely will alert authorities beforehand if he DOES have such intentions--I've been down this road with him before, and right now I can tell that all he really wants are an answer as to WHY, and his baby back in his custody. The threats of self-harm are right now just Tim's shorthand for "I am miserable and sad and I don't understand what just happened to me, and I'm scared that history is repeating itself."
Well, -I- don't understand either, and though I'd like to be more optimistic, I'm afraid that history is doing exactly what he thinks it's doing. But next time Squeaky logs into her Facebook account, she's got a letter from me that would melt paint off the walls. Tim may be most-upset about this, but in the who's-most-upset arms-race, I am DEFINITELY in second place tonight.
Call #1 was a two-hour catching-up call, with the occasional Squeaky-related complaint, but no signs of anything critical.
(Anyone got a guess on where this might be heading?)
Call #2, at midnight, waking me from a sound sleep, was to ask me what I thought about the following: Squeaky had called early today asking Tim if he minded if she went to her friend Malia's for a while. Then a bit later, she had called to tell him that she wasn't going to be home at 6 after all, that she and Malia were going to an 8:00 movie. And as of midnight, Squeaky STILL wasn't home, and wasn't answering her phone, and was he right to be annoyed? And did I think she was okay, or was he worrying about nothing??
Call #3, at 3 AM: "G? Squeaky just came in with the cops and took the baby and left."
I asked him, in about four different ways, what had led up to that point, and each time I got the same answer: when the phone was finally answered, it was Malia who answered, and of course Tim doesn't like Malia and was not exactly polite, but when he talked to Squeaky he had not (per him) said anything that would be construed as threatening. (Now frankly, I don't care who said what to whom; Squeaky knows Tim well enough to know that there are two, and only two, excuses for her to involve the cops: either a) he ACTUALLY puts his hands on her (not "threatens to" because the two of them threaten horrible murder ten times a day and both of them know better) or b) he ACTUALLY sets about injuring himself. (Questions of safety involving the baby are past consideration; he loves that child beyond imagination.)
Tim is now threatening his own life--though he's promised not to act on that til at least tomorrow night, and most likely will alert authorities beforehand if he DOES have such intentions--I've been down this road with him before, and right now I can tell that all he really wants are an answer as to WHY, and his baby back in his custody. The threats of self-harm are right now just Tim's shorthand for "I am miserable and sad and I don't understand what just happened to me, and I'm scared that history is repeating itself."
Well, -I- don't understand either, and though I'd like to be more optimistic, I'm afraid that history is doing exactly what he thinks it's doing. But next time Squeaky logs into her Facebook account, she's got a letter from me that would melt paint off the walls. Tim may be most-upset about this, but in the who's-most-upset arms-race, I am DEFINITELY in second place tonight.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Re: My Paranoia Post (Two Posts Down)
So today EZ pointed out that the piece I posted, re: Jubal Aviv, the supposed terror expert, had actually been debunked on Snopes. And I clicked the link, and I said "Well I'll be damned," and thus I post this acknowledgement that, yeah--I bought it, and it's apparently bunk, and so I am slightly more-pink-in-the-face than usual. (Normally I can smell a Snopes a mile away...that one was well-done, I'll tell you what.) And regardless--some of the advice is still pretty good--re: having a plan, especially families with kids in school and what-not.
Still, all in all, I got hoaxed too, so: yeah, feeling a bit silly just now.
Still, all in all, I got hoaxed too, so: yeah, feeling a bit silly just now.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Any Ideas On This One?
Okay. So: Antidepressants.
Supposed to make you LESS depressed, yes? As in, no longer a swampy, inert mass of non-motivation?
Not being 100% sure that they were going to authorize a refill of my prescription, and having heard that the withdrawals from this one (Effexor) are a howling bitch-monkey, I cut my dose down about four days ago from 225 mg to 150 mg (from 3 pills to 2 pills) per day.
And today, though I did stay home from work due to, erm, female issues--I was motivated enough to get all my laundry done (except the blankets), to clean out the fridge, take out the trash, and to vacuum the living room (well, I WILL do that--most likely, anyway.)
Now, nothing else has changed. Just the dosage on the meds.
Does anyone else find this weird, or is this just one of those well-known paradoxes of antidepressants?
Supposed to make you LESS depressed, yes? As in, no longer a swampy, inert mass of non-motivation?
Not being 100% sure that they were going to authorize a refill of my prescription, and having heard that the withdrawals from this one (Effexor) are a howling bitch-monkey, I cut my dose down about four days ago from 225 mg to 150 mg (from 3 pills to 2 pills) per day.
And today, though I did stay home from work due to, erm, female issues--I was motivated enough to get all my laundry done (except the blankets), to clean out the fridge, take out the trash, and to vacuum the living room (well, I WILL do that--most likely, anyway.)
Now, nothing else has changed. Just the dosage on the meds.
Does anyone else find this weird, or is this just one of those well-known paradoxes of antidepressants?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)