True friends

I cleaned out my friend's list on Facebook again. At this rate I will have two friends by the end of June.

The lack of sympathy from supposed friends prompted the latest clean out. I had my cat of more than 16 years put to sleep. Life for Pogo had become painful. I took him to the vet for the final time though it broke my heart. I posted about my heartbreak on Facebook. About half of my "friends" bothered to say something about my loss. More than one day went by before I began unfriending people to allow everyone the chance to see my post. Only a couple spoke up.

I needed my friends. Only a few came through. The rest proved they were not really my friends.

Sometimes love hurts

Today I did one of the hardest acts a pet lover can do. I took my Pogo to the vet and she injected him with a solution that stopped his heart.

I did not want to do this to my sweet boy, and the very thought made me sick to my stomach. But I loved him even more.

His quality of life had gradually declined over the past year. He did not want to eat. All he did was sleep, sometimes on the back of the couch and sometimes next to my body. When we went for a checkup, the vet said he had lost two pounds and running my hand down his back I could feel every vertebrae.

Momo, knowing something was not right, started picking on Pogo. Hissing at him and pushing him away from the food and water.

I rescued Pogo from the pound when he was about two months old. My godson, Corey, was watching the noon news when the tv station would feature animals that needed homes. Corey came to his mother and I all upset because this kitten was going to die if someone did not adopt him. I had just recently had a cat who died and was not sure I was ready for another. I promised Corey I would go and check.

Three days later Pogo became part of my family. For 16 years, he snuggled with me at night, licked my fingers and listened when I had a bad day. How could I not do this for my boy who had unconditionally loved me?

So, today I made sure Pogo did not hurt anymore. I will miss you and love you the rest of my life. Rest in peace my sweet boy.

Just another day in paradise

Two days seems the max for me before the blues drag me down. Let me tell you, the situation wears me out. Then the bad days stack up like a house of cards. Pretty soon a puff of wind sends my emotions flying. I crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head and hope I can sleep the day away. Even if I do, I feel no better than I did.

The little voice in my head keeps harping at me: you are ugly, you are no good, no one likes you, you are worthless. Some days I just want to say shut up. You don't think I know this already?

I castigate myself for doing the wrong thing. I castigate myself for doing the right thing but feeling bad about the choice.

I am sorry I cannot help you. I know you suffer more than I. I cannot seem to keep my keel even enough to feel like I would do anyone else any good. If that makes me seem selfish, then I am selfish.

We only get one chance at this life and I am afraid I get the failing grade.

Parenting tough

This blog post is written with lots of love for my parents, who made me who I am.

If I were a parent, particularly a single parent or about to become a halftime parent, there are some things I would do my best to make sure happen.

The child or children would get a hug and be told they are loved no matter how rushed I am to get to work. I would never bad mouth the other parent no matter how angry I am with them or how many lies they tell others or the children about me. The situation is hard enough on children and splitting time between houses and parents could easily cause the children to think neither of their parents wants them.

I would make sure the children spend quality time with me when they are with me. Whether it is going to the splash pad, taking a walk in the neighborhood or reading stories out loud.

I would set limits on electronic gadgets and television and explain why I set those limits. I would give each child, say an hour a week to play with the electronics, and another hour a week to watch television. I would keep a chart, and mark off the amount of time each activity is done. After the hour of electronics, the gadget would be locked up for the rest of the week. Same with the tv.

If the children wanted bonus time on the gadgets, they would have to earn it with certain chores equalling 5 minutes, etc. A limit also would be placed on bonus time.

No matter how big a fit they threw, or what a hassle the whole thing would be to me, the children are worth the discipline and limits they would receive.

Children should not be pawns in a game of angry parent, nor should electronics raise the children because it is easier than expending the energy to set limits.

Children always should come first. We brought them into the world and it is our duty to take care of them in every way.

I agree parents need break times from the children, just like the children can use a break from the parent, within limits.

Remember how your parents treated you and take your cues from that. Most parents are able to provide a home full of love and caring. Caring includes setting limits without being mean. If you come from a home that was just the opposite, then you need to make sure your children are not treated the way you were. Material objects will not fill the void of lack of love or personal time spent with them.

Children are a gift. Do not throw away the chance to matter in their lives.

I am so tired

I am anxious.
I am depressed.
I am bored.
I am lonely.
I am afraid.
I am frozen.
I am needy.
I am lacking.
I am useless.
I am ...

I feel the buildup

A couple of friends brought me some of their boxes from their cross state move. Being nice people, they carried them into the house for me. After they left, the anxiety started.

The last time I moved, I had my friend Connie, her youngest son and his friend to help. Actually Connie acted as the trail boss and the two teenagers did the leg work. If I remember, I threw stuff into boxes the night before the move, after all I was moving from upstairs to downstairs.

This move will require more precise packing. Just looking at the flat boxes my friends brought makes me question the move. Do I want to pack? It is not so much the packing as the energy required to do it. Sure, there are things I could pack now that I don't use. But after my last clean out, much of that stuff got put outside my front door with a sign on it that said, "Free. Take me."

The rest of the stuff, for instance dishes, I use daily.

I guess what I am saying is I don't want to and I am not sure I can. The very thought makes my stomach hurt and the shadow of dread comes creeping close by. I am not good with change and moving would be a big change.

My lease ends in 3.5 months. I hope I don't spend that time worrying and fretting. Imagine what it will be like if I get all anxious about a stack of empty boxes now.

I don't want to adult today, either

Me: Pogo is looking and feeling poorly these days. After all, he is 16.
The other me: I know. I should probably take him to the vet and have him put to sleep.
Me: But what if he is not that bad. How will I know?
The other me: Don't you think the fact he is eating less and spends most of his time hidden under a blanket is an indication?
Me: I want to do the right thing for him. I do not want him to suffer. But how can I tell if he is suffering?
The other me: Don't you think that constant meowing he went through recently was an indication?
Me: Yes, that occurred to me. But he isn't doing that anymore. He still drinks water and I can find something he will eat, though it might take me three or four tries.
The other me: Why don't you call the vet and make appointment and ask her.
Me: But what if she says he is ready to leave? Can I make myself watch him die? Can I leave him there alone to die by himself?
The other me: What are you afraid of? That you would have to feel?
Me: As long as I know he isn't suffering or in pain, I could let him die naturally at home.
The other me: But do you know for sure he is not suffering or in pain?
Me: No, not for sure.
The other me: Isn't helping him die part of your job as a pet parent?
Me: But I don't want that job.
The other me: You signed on for that job when you adopted him. Just call the vet and let her tell you what she thinks. Then it will be a joint decision.
Me: But if he needs to be put to sleep, I will feel so guilty.
The other me: Guilty about what? That you prevented him from lingering in pain? Man up. At least call the vet and make an appointment.
Me: OK. But I will have to get dressed and leave the house.
The other me: Yes, you will. We all have to do things we don't want to.
Me: OK. I will because I love Pogo.

I can't adult today

I got up at my usual 3 and got quite a bit done. Well, I gathered the trash, washed a week's worth of dishes and swept and mopped the kitchen floor. After having stepped onto several wet spots, I discovered one of my cats has diarrhea. So I cleaned up the spots all the while Pogo meowed at me to come back to bed. Going back to bed has become a part of our routine. Pogo doesn't sleep with me, however. He gets under the covers and then slides down beside the couch into a tent made from the quilt which is much too big for the couch.

I lay there for a few minutes, then slowly got up so I wouldn't disturb Pogo. I discovered a few days ago that Momo has been marking a spot near my medicine cart. Today I finally decided to do something about cleaning it up. I looked on the web and followed the directions that included blotting up the pee, spraying the spot with a vinegar/water solution, blotting that up, then spraying with a hydrogen peroxide and dish soap solution and then sprinkling baking soda over the area. I am supposed to let it dry, then vacuum. I just hope Momo doesn't decide to mark the spot before it is dry. Once it is dry, I will spray lemon juice on the wall and carpet. That is supposed to repel cats.

Pogo is not doing well. He has lost weight and doesn't feel good. He hisses at Momo. I need to take him to the vet so he can cross the Rainbow Bridge, but I can't make myself do the right thing. No matter which direction I take, I will feel guilty.

My insides, mainly my head, feel like an electrical storm. Thoughts don't seem to connect. I can't seem to eat more than one meal a day without feeling bloated and uncomfortable. I have heartburn a lot because I tend to lie down after I eat so I can breathe.

I read an article by a writer who suffered from depression. I agree with his description. Every sentence I was thinking, yes! Then he wrote one day he just returned to his old self. He offered no clue how or why. It just happened. Well...I am waiting.

I find it harder and harder to fill my waking hours. For awhile, I read. I have Amazon Prime and get a free book every month. Then I discovered a book by a woman named Nadia something or other, who is a Lutheran pastor in Denver. Her church parishioners are the throw aways, the scorned, the people nobody wants. She once was a throw away herself. Her message stirred something inside me. After a few months, my old depressed self returned.

Then I watched lots of television. Mainly what I call the blood and guts network (the ID channel). All sorts of murders, some solved, some not. Lt. Joe Kenda of Colorado Springs became my hero.

But after several hundred hours of blood and guts, I no longer watch tv. Since I have Direct TV and they were bought by AT&T, I no longer have sports channels. The big phone company raised rates the second they took over. I know, I should get Netflix or Hulu, but really, tv no longer interests me.

Which leads to the problem I have now. Nothing captures my imagination. No hobbies, no interest in volunteering, which requires a commitment, nothing involving people. That is not to say I don't get lonely, because I do. Lonely down to the core of me.

Maybe I need a stint in the local nut hut.