I know. You know, you know, you know: I don't have much time to blog because I
a. Have too much college stuff to do
b. Have ahouse trailer filled with needy kids
c. Have ahouse trailer filled with ailing animals
d.Have to get to W.Mart as my food stamps came in
e. Am in the process of losing my mind
f. All of the above
Shoot me. I'm wicked worn out. How much longer can I keep this up? (Ummm? About a year.)
But let's update real' fast. Okay? Okay. I reached out to my favorite old vet tech from Cali. A woman I haven't spoken to in twenty years. (Because that's the kind of presumptuous, needy woman I am. "Hi. I haven't talked to you in twenty years but I need you to help me with all these damned sick creatures...") Fortunately, she's a wonderful person and besides offering me excellent medical advice (I was freaking RIGHT about the erythromycin! Damn this fricking two-bit local Texas vet!), it's been really good to correspond with her. As soon as the meds I ordered online arrive I hope to be able to cure all my poor, poor cats and thenburn down disinfect my entire disaster of a trailer.
Rosary the goat? Eh. Still down. Her back legs seem to be pretty much working, it's just her front that fail her. I'm going to put a little more time and effort into this before resorting to the sharpest knife I can find.
Camus the Great Pyr? Much better, thank you. My Cali vet tech gave me the same Ivermec advice that Goatbarn Witch did and his sarcoptic mange is slowly but steadily receding.
Taco the apparently immortal chihuahua? Feeling much better. Recovering. Kind of Senile Dementia Dog, but what can you do? His going-outside-days are over. Mandatory retirement. He's relegated to inside guardian duty, sofa safety detail, pillow patrol. He has a towel he can do his little doggy business on, his own little food and water dishes, and all the cats he needs to grumble at.
In other news, remember my tmi relentless, excessive, never-ever-ending period woes? Like, the winter-through-spring period of doom? The one that finally resolved during my good, happy-ish summer? It's back. With a vengeance. Raising again the question: How much can one woman freaking BLEED? (And, like, LIVE.) Eh. Stress. Or, idk, some fatal illness. (Everything's fatal, right?) Craptastic, right? Eh.
And in even further news, my mother refused Trinity's request to bring her boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner. See, me and the kids generally bring the meat (baked chickens as my mother doesn't like turkey), and the desserts to my mother's house for Thanksgiving. Trin wanted to bring her boyfriend for a couple hours before going with him to his house for a couple hours. Of course her boyfriend is African American and, well, Trinity's calling racism.
Because, well, even Sierra says that if it were Sierra wanting to bring herKlan White boyfriend (who, btw, is getting on my last effing nerve with his yes-ma'am-no-ma'am Southern fried manners and his blatant sexism/racism), the answer would have been different.
As near as I can tell, there's nothing wrong with Trini's boyfriend. And I say this as a mother who just figured out that he even exists this last week. Except, well, he's too old for her. He's in ninth grade, Trin's in eighth, but he was held back a year and this means he'll be sixteen this January (and I'll eat glass before I let Trin drive around in any car with him). He's an athlete. Apparently a good one by the way the high school treats him (here we suddenly understand Trinity's current obsession with attending football games). His goal and his family's goal for him is to obtain an athletic scholarship to a good college. (And he better freaking get an education while he's at it because according to mybible Sociology textbook, only 2% of college athletes go pro.)
Eh. I need to get to know him more. So I hopefully worry less about Trin. It's been kind of reassuring, over-hearing her phone conversations with him. Hearing her boss him around. Hear her order him to do this or that, hear her demand, "You better not be friends with them because you're MY BOYFRIEND and you have to do what I SAY."
Heh. That's my girl. Trin's such a sociopath. Her sociopathy makes me kind of not worry about her so much.
Eh. It's hellish actually, having my kids grow up so fast. I miss the Sesame Street days.
And now I better go. Because I have a Sociology exam, a timed freaking exam and these always make me tense. (What DOESN'T make me tense???)
Send, idk, iron pills and calves' liver.
a. Have too much college stuff to do
b. Have a
c. Have a
d.Have to get to W.Mart as my food stamps came in
e. Am in the process of losing my mind
f. All of the above
Shoot me. I'm wicked worn out. How much longer can I keep this up? (Ummm? About a year.)
But let's update real' fast. Okay? Okay. I reached out to my favorite old vet tech from Cali. A woman I haven't spoken to in twenty years. (Because that's the kind of presumptuous, needy woman I am. "Hi. I haven't talked to you in twenty years but I need you to help me with all these damned sick creatures...") Fortunately, she's a wonderful person and besides offering me excellent medical advice (I was freaking RIGHT about the erythromycin! Damn this fricking two-bit local Texas vet!), it's been really good to correspond with her. As soon as the meds I ordered online arrive I hope to be able to cure all my poor, poor cats and then
Rosary the goat? Eh. Still down. Her back legs seem to be pretty much working, it's just her front that fail her. I'm going to put a little more time and effort into this before resorting to the sharpest knife I can find.
Camus the Great Pyr? Much better, thank you. My Cali vet tech gave me the same Ivermec advice that Goatbarn Witch did and his sarcoptic mange is slowly but steadily receding.
Taco the apparently immortal chihuahua? Feeling much better. Recovering. Kind of Senile Dementia Dog, but what can you do? His going-outside-days are over. Mandatory retirement. He's relegated to inside guardian duty, sofa safety detail, pillow patrol. He has a towel he can do his little doggy business on, his own little food and water dishes, and all the cats he needs to grumble at.
In other news, remember my tmi relentless, excessive, never-ever-ending period woes? Like, the winter-through-spring period of doom? The one that finally resolved during my good, happy-ish summer? It's back. With a vengeance. Raising again the question: How much can one woman freaking BLEED? (And, like, LIVE.) Eh. Stress. Or, idk, some fatal illness. (Everything's fatal, right?) Craptastic, right? Eh.
And in even further news, my mother refused Trinity's request to bring her boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner. See, me and the kids generally bring the meat (baked chickens as my mother doesn't like turkey), and the desserts to my mother's house for Thanksgiving. Trin wanted to bring her boyfriend for a couple hours before going with him to his house for a couple hours. Of course her boyfriend is African American and, well, Trinity's calling racism.
Because, well, even Sierra says that if it were Sierra wanting to bring her
As near as I can tell, there's nothing wrong with Trini's boyfriend. And I say this as a mother who just figured out that he even exists this last week. Except, well, he's too old for her. He's in ninth grade, Trin's in eighth, but he was held back a year and this means he'll be sixteen this January (and I'll eat glass before I let Trin drive around in any car with him). He's an athlete. Apparently a good one by the way the high school treats him (here we suddenly understand Trinity's current obsession with attending football games). His goal and his family's goal for him is to obtain an athletic scholarship to a good college. (And he better freaking get an education while he's at it because according to my
Eh. I need to get to know him more. So I hopefully worry less about Trin. It's been kind of reassuring, over-hearing her phone conversations with him. Hearing her boss him around. Hear her order him to do this or that, hear her demand, "You better not be friends with them because you're MY BOYFRIEND and you have to do what I SAY."
Heh. That's my girl. Trin's such a sociopath. Her sociopathy makes me kind of not worry about her so much.
Eh. It's hellish actually, having my kids grow up so fast. I miss the Sesame Street days.
And now I better go. Because I have a Sociology exam, a timed freaking exam and these always make me tense. (What DOESN'T make me tense???)
Send, idk, iron pills and calves' liver.
I didn't get a chance to comment on your last entry with the idiotic vet tech. I can say my other half (rude as he can be at times) was reading over my shoulder and was ranting that it was bullshit the treatment you got. I echo those sentiments. Glad to know the animals will soon be getting the meds they need.
My daughter Skye went through the same thing with her grandparents when she dated an Asian guy her senior year. Ethnicity never mattered to me. As long as he treated her well and wanted to do something with her life. That ended after 8 months. He wasn't the dreamboat he thought he was.
She tends to be just like your daughter Trini. Thankfully she has a husband who is willing to love her and put up with the bossiness. Hope your week turns out better and you find something that gives you a smile dear friend. (Hugs)Indigo
Yay for good medical advice and creature recovery!
Hmmm, maybe you should tell your mom that she should start getting in good with "those people" since they're taking over the country now n___n
Could the bleeding problem be seasonal? Is there some change in your diet or anything during the summer months?
Answers to these and other baffling question in our next exciting episode!
I was beginning to wonder where you were.... I should know better! Anyway, glad the meds are comming and hope that all gets resolved ASAP. The little goatie I hope is getting her calcium by some means?
For you, maybe some yellowdock tincture for the impending anemia and a positive outlook along the lines of, "I bleed and do not die, I am superhuman". Or consider my version of hormone hell.... permanent PMS because the bleeding doesn't come. Ya know if this stuff happened to men there would have been nuclear annihilation long ago (btw, can't type today due to the pms so please forgive typos)
Mg had triplets one year, and one lamb was pretty folded up
when he came out. Cramped quarters, I guess. He couldn't stand up
on his front legs. We splinted both front legs with toilet paper
tubes and blue vet wrap (be careful not to cut off blood circulation),
and after a few days Curly (as he was called) was using his front
legs properly enough that we could remove the splinting.
"if this stuff happened to men there would have been nuclear annihilation long ago"
If this stuff happened to men, we'd be women :P