Jun 21

Up and down. Ill, not ill in a 24 hour period. Hyper. Crash. In the same period.

And lapsing a lot into silence.

Kinda done with it all.

I am struggling to get even basic things done, sometimes I have a fit of activity, then, nothing. My meds prescription has languished at the pharmacy for over a week. Just. Can't summon the motivation to get them. My heating is still on the fritz. Cannot summon the gumption to get some goober in to look at it.

My motivation for stuff has dropped. I am noodling here and there with art. But. It's fairly methodical. I am not enjoying it. Just. Doing the thing.

At the continual gentle "nagging" from a friend, I put in a request to rehome a dog. A boxer. I very much doubt I will hear anything, and, I am still far from convinced it's right for me, but, if he's stuck with no other home, I can give him a place. I am aware that I am better with a dog in my life. It forces me to be at least for moments, a happier, sillier version of me. One that babytalks and sings and dances and expresses continual love for a fluffy butt. This is the antithesis of other colder nihilistic bits of me that will devour itself. Without a dog. Who knows. But my very strong hunch is, without a dog I wither pretty fast. If I were taking bets. I would bet against me.

Even though I know that, I accept that fate. Not all stories have happy endings.

But who knows. My foresight for such things is often clouded by gloom and a fierce opposition to change.

Still.

Here's your dilemma. You know that you are better, and that life is better with a dog. You however strongly doubt your worthiness / capability to properly look after a dog and you absolutely will not tolerate any failure there just to "placate your own bullshit and be selfish".

For me, this means I don't get a dog.

So the whole, apply to rehome a dog thing. Eh. I am highly dubious. But. Pretty sure I wont be asked to do that anyway. So. It's a moot point.

I dare say my whole mindset on the thing is fucked. Difficult for me to see the wood for the trees.

Anywho.

Athena is doing good. I think her wound is fully knit together now. It's lumpy and bumpy and scabby. But it feels firm and isn't leaking. I will give it a clean up soon.

Yesterday she survived the appallingly traumatic event of having a single nail clipped. She is the biggest baby for nail clipping. Gets up. Runs off. Like she has just survived murder. Meanwhile, a small sad piece of a single nail is all that's left. You have to do them one per day. And she is very shy, and very smart about what you're up to. It's best to sneak up on her when she's dozing. Such a baby.

I never used to clip her nails - apart from her dew claws, because she would tear about so much on concrete she always wore them down. These days we dont walk anywhere on concrete by and large. We get in a car, go to a nice place, and walk in green places. Zero time for shitty urban sprawl in her golden age. I figure. If you're an older person with less energy, you don't want to waste it walking a stupid pavement. Much better to have it spent with your nose in a bush instead.

She's upstairs at the moment. Horsing around. I can hear her tippy tappy claws on the wooden floor. I remind her every day they need to be done. She doesn't reply. Would rather not. Thank you. And goodbye.