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4 kittens

U got it bad

Posted on 2015.02.01 at 08:37
Big Kitty goes back to the vet this morning. We have been giving him IV fluids nightly for three weeks now.

1. I stabbed my finger to the bone with the needle. Holy god that hurt for a few days.

2. I went to finish a glass of milk that had been left on the counter. It tasted like bodily fluid ocean water, and I lurched to the sink and dramatically spit it out everywhere.  That cup of old milk had been used to collect the excess from the IV tube, when we switched bags. The foul, salty taste of IV fluid and milk stuck with me for a few days. (I contemplated writing "like old semen", and then got hung up on whether I want my children to ever read such a description from me.)

3. On our bed, there were some brown spots. I feared Old Kitty was beginning to lose control of his bowels. I smelled them though, and it didn't smell like feces. But they were still wet. Finally we figured out that Kitty's back was bleeding copiously all over the place, from the IV that night. I petted him, looked at my hand, and my hand was smeared profusely with blood. I felt awful.

Believe it or not, the IV fluid process isn't terrible. I put a towel on my lap, pull Big Kitty on it and swaddle him up. He flinches a tiny bit when the needle goes in. But during the actual infusion, he purrs and seems content, and I rub all over his face and he approves.

(Big Kitty is now home from the vet, because writing these entries is a sprawling process. He has lost weight and the numbers from his bloodwork have gotten worse. This is probably the beginning of the end for dear Big Kitty, but I'm kind of in denial.)

You've got it, you've got it bad when you're on the phone, hang up and you call right back

Jammies and I alternate mornings. One of us gets the kids ready and dropped off, the other one leaves the house super early. On my mornings to leave the house, I go to 6 am xfit, get to work around 7:30, and shower in the math department bathroom, which is housed in an ancient dorm. The tile is yellow and charming, although very cracked. The hot water is limited.

There are an ungodly number of microscopic details. Things like "Hawaii wants milk in a cup next to her raisin bran" and "include a wet napkin" and "turn on the shower when you first enter the bathroom at work, so it has time to heat up" and "include jewelry and hair ties when you pack your clothes to get dressed after you shower at work" and "pack breakfast and breastpump stuff" and a thousand more. The mechanized life, that's me.

I use this towel when I showered at work:

January 31, 2015 (1)

One of those chamois, microfiber jobs. It's so convenient - you can store it damp, it's tiny, it works fine. It's like drying off with cold lunch meat.

I hate it. I knew I hated it, but I only recently realized that this lunchmeat towel is the linchpin of my hatred for the entire morning routine on those days. Fuck it, everybody, I'm bringing a real towel! Renegade on, Heebie.

(Early Friday morning, the sky was purple and the road was empty, and a fox ran across the road, way in front of me. He had the big bushy tail of a fox, at least. He mostly looked black, because the sun was not really up yet, hence the purple sky. It was a poetic moment.  I watched him run into the field next to the road, for a few more seconds, fox-like.)

You've got it, you've got it bad when you miss a day without your friend, your whole life's off track

I forgot to record here about my terrible, horrible no-good very bad day. This was before school started, when I went to a conference in San Antonio: I left my purse at home. I left the dome light on inside my car, so the battery died. We asked the hotel conference people for help. They looked for a jump box for 45 minutes before saying they couldn't find theirs. (The hood of my car was boxed in by walls and other cars.) I called AAA. After 45 minutes, they concluded that they couldn't help me, because I didn't have my ID, even though I'd asked them about that specific detail 45 minutes ago. I called our insurance company, which has a roadside assistance plan. They couldn't find a towing company with a car that could make it in this particular low-ceilinged garage.

Finally Jammies loaded up the three children and drove down and gave us a jump. I had baby Rascal with me. He screamed for most of the three extra hours that we were stuck at the conference. He screamed most of the way home. It took us 5 1/2 hours to go about 30 miles, and I carpooled with two friends so I wrecked their evening too.  See, it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. (Some days are like that, even in Australia, as rfts quipped elsewhere.)

(Since then, Jammies bought me both a new battery and a jump box.)

You know you've got it bad when you're stuck in the house. You don't want to go out, because all you think about.

The carpet at the conference was ugly but bold. At times it looked like some sort of cellular membrane neuron structure:

February 1, 2015 (1)

In other places, it channeled a southwestern sun cha-cha:

February 1, 2015 (2)

And in other places, a folk-art quilt:

February 1, 2015 (3)

with a quasi-Arabic font border:

February 1, 2015 (4)

Put it all together and I hated it:

February 1, 2015 (5)

even though I tried not to, and still appreciate their attempt at cellular-southwestern-Arabic-folk art quilt carpet. It's a mouthful.  Pretty awful thing to aim for, guys.

You've got it bad when you're out with someone, but you keep on thinking about someone else. You've got it bad.

Our hand-me-downs come exclusively from families who have only one gender of kid.  The families who pass down clothes for Hawaii and Ace have much better taste than the families who pass down clothes for Pokey and Rascal.  So Pokey ends up wearing truly terrible pants, mostly.

Revealed preference reveals that I don't care enough to actually shop and buy him better pants.  Here's the problem: I tell Hawaii all the time that her outfit is great, because it is. I never tell Pokey that his outfit is great, because it isn't. It's technically only incidental to their gender - Hawaii has great ingredients in her closet, and Pokey has terrible ingredients in his closet, from which to construct outfits - but it sure does reinforce traditional gender lines. But I need to cut it out, or get Pokey some better clothes.

Hokey Pokey is a nice cheetah who can't talk. That is the opening line of a lot of conversations this week - "Pretend I'm a nice cheetah who can't talk" sometimes named Sven. It's a pretty easy proposition to go along with.

There's a new radio station out of San Antonio that plays all the pop rap and R&B from the 90s that you could ever desire; hence the Usher earworm. Sorry.


(Anonymous) at 2015-02-01 18:32 (UTC) (Link)
I think that looks less quasi-Arabic and more like Prince language. You know, the one his not-Prince, sign name was taken from.
heebie_geebie at 2015-02-08 22:02 (UTC) (Link)
It does. Or the male/female signs combined with the hippie eyeball-in-palm-of-hand thing.
Kelly Jennings
Kelly Jennings at 2015-02-01 19:36 (UTC) (Link)


I would be so angry at AAA. Because it's not like they're cheap.

My Triple AAA guys never actually ask to see my card or ID, by the way. FWIW. With my crap cars, I call AAA two or three times a year, for various issues. (Maybe now that I have inherited my dead brother's 2010 Mustang, this will change. Who knows!) The AAA person always *says* I will have to show my card and ID, but then the guys who come always say, naw, it's fine, lady.

And I'm not even flirting with them. I swear!

Does Hawaii actually not talk when she's Sven? B/c as the parent of a kid who would NEVER SHUT up at her age, that would be pretty okay.
heebie_geebie at 2015-02-08 22:04 (UTC) (Link)


I should really discontinue AAA, given that the insurance company also provides roadside assistance. It's really just force of habit.

And, to whether Pokey actually stops talking? Not one bit. It's generally "Now pretend that I'm doing this and you're doing that and then pretend that this happens and now say this" sort of directorship, though, as opposed to actually talk from the POV of Sven the Cheetah.
(Anonymous) at 2015-02-02 03:29 (UTC) (Link)
"I tell Hawaii all the time that her outfit is great, because it is. I never tell Pokey that his outfit is great, because it isn't." This reminds me so much of The Little Brute Family. "No one said 'Please.' No one said 'Thank you,' and no one said 'How delicious,' because it was not delicious."

- rfts
heebie_geebie at 2015-02-08 22:09 (UTC) (Link)
Would you believe I haven't heard of the Little Brute Family? Looking it up, I see it's the same guy as wrote Francis, which has a similar deadpan style. I see it also has super charming illustrations.
(Anonymous) at 2015-02-09 05:00 (UTC) (Link)
I would believe it! But I think you would love it. It's very loveable.

lolliejean at 2015-02-03 17:40 (UTC) (Link)
Happy Birthday! :-)
heebie_geebie at 2015-02-08 22:09 (UTC) (Link)
why thank you! It was a good one.
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