As if things weren't going as oppositely of swell as possible, I woke up the other morning to find some bloody mess in the cat box. Oh. Warning the previous sentence, and probably the content of some subsequent ones, is gross. Now, with multiple cats, it isn't always obvious of the culprit. Suspect one was Cancer-Cat for obvious reasons. Suspect two was little man cat since I couldn't find him. I spent the morning going about my business of the usual routine (make tea and read the internet and think about the things that need to be done) but repeatedly checking each time a cat took care of theirs. Eventually, I solved the mystery. My little Socks kitty-man was spewing a bloody slime from his rear end. Delightful.
I considered canceling my massage, but I didn't. I reminded myself that I deserved to take care of me and not just my cats (sound more like a crazy cat lady, why don't you?!) and the constant pain in my back added its sentiments about the necessity of a massage. I swallowed my stress and panic and money woes long enough to put on some sweat pants and a hoodie to jump on the train and trek down to get the knots in my back worked out. Feeling a little better, I stopped to get some wine and headed home for an afternoon/evening of wallowing in "why me" wailings and wine. By the time I got home, I somehow had a change of heart. I cracked a beer and settled in to my couch.
Stress remained. I felt like a penny that had been left on the train tracks. I knew I could just lay there and think about things. I had to do something. Phone call happened. Vet appointment was made. The next day couldn't come quickly enough.
That evening, I was restless. I had to get out of my house. Two beers deep I headed to the bar to meet a friend. I vented. We chatted. Beers and eventually laughs were had. I returned home with an attitude like no other. I was going to take on whatever else came my way. I wouldn't be broken. Not by this. Not by this plus this plus this. Step one was to remove the dry erase board from the wall and wipe it clean. Step two was to fill it with all of the things that I could control. Once that was done, I headed to bed to face the next day.
Socks went to the vet, howling part of the way. Dear people on the subway, it's payback for your babies crying. Stop staring.
The checkup was quick, and he was diagnosed with inflammation that was probably the result of stress, which is probably the stress of Mandy being sick and out of the house and such. Some meds were prescribed and the bill was less than I expected and far less than Mandy's visit the week before.
He seems to be feeling better already. I feel better in the sense that I don't want to be weak. I hate being weak and appearing weak so I'm standing up to the Universe and all of the shit that has been thrown my way. Taking into my own hands what I can and letting the rest just be there. In the past forty-eight hours, I have accomplished many things. You would think the To Do List would shrink, but as I cross things off, I find more things to add. This is my life and I will win.