illness

Do you know what is a wonderful thing to have happen when you are lying in bed sick, cursing your respiratory tract for betraying you over the weekend? Having a large, overly gregarious, orange tabby kitten jump onto the bed, nuzzle you constantly, and meow loudly if you get up. Jupiter was a very good babysitter this morning. If I got out of bed for a drink of water or to go to the bathroom, he'd mrrow intensely until I got back into bed. Then he would climb on top of my chest and stare at me, sniffing my face and occasionally licking my nose.

I finally got out of bed and got dressed around noon. Took a hot steamy shower. Coughed a bit. Felt that lovely rattling in my chest, the tight, sore, raw sensation of inflamed bronchi. I really did not want to stay home. Mondays are heavy mail days, lots of boxes and things coming into the library. However, I don't want to risk my boss getting sick: his immune system is weak and he tends to get sick with respiratory infections easily. Yes, I know, this must sound strange, I actually want to go to work. But the only reasons I am home is because I am contagious and because I am too dizzy to walk more than around the house.

Adam is going to Connecticut. He has been assigned to fix the broken internet server and computer of the king of Morocco, Mohammad Ben Al-Hassan, although he probably won't meet the man. (His company tends to work a lot with foreign dignitaries, diplomats, kings, princes, and higher-ups; Adam has helped set up equipment for US presidental campaigns as well.)
He will stay overnight and be home on Tuesday. I hope all goes well.

I ordered food. It'll be here soon.

illness

Do you know what is a wonderful thing to have happen when you are lying in bed sick, cursing your respiratory tract for betraying you over the weekend? Having a large, overly gregarious, orange tabby kitten jump onto the bed, nuzzle you constantly, and meow loudly if you get up. Jupiter was a very good babysitter this morning. If I got out of bed for a drink of water or to go to the bathroom, he'd mrrow intensely until I got back into bed. Then he would climb on top of my chest and stare at me, sniffing my face and occasionally licking my nose.

I finally got out of bed and got dressed around noon. Took a hot steamy shower. Coughed a bit. Felt that lovely rattling in my chest, the tight, sore, raw sensation of inflamed bronchi. I really did not want to stay home. Mondays are heavy mail days, lots of boxes and things coming into the library. However, I don't want to risk my boss getting sick: his immune system is weak and he tends to get sick with respiratory infections easily. Yes, I know, this must sound strange, I actually want to go to work. But the only reasons I am home is because I am contagious and because I am too dizzy to walk more than around the house.

Adam is going to Connecticut. He has been assigned to fix the broken internet server and computer of the king of Morocco, Mohammad Ben Al-Hassan, although he probably won't meet the man. (His company tends to work a lot with foreign dignitaries, diplomats, kings, princes, and higher-ups; Adam has helped set up equipment for US presidental campaigns as well.)
He will stay overnight and be home on Tuesday. I hope all goes well.

I ordered food. It'll be here soon.

illness

Do you know what is a wonderful thing to have happen when you are lying in bed sick, cursing your respiratory tract for betraying you over the weekend? Having a large, overly gregarious, orange tabby kitten jump onto the bed, nuzzle you constantly, and meow loudly if you get up. Jupiter was a very good babysitter this morning. If I got out of bed for a drink of water or to go to the bathroom, he'd mrrow intensely until I got back into bed. Then he would climb on top of my chest and stare at me, sniffing my face and occasionally licking my nose.

I finally got out of bed and got dressed around noon. Took a hot steamy shower. Coughed a bit. Felt that lovely rattling in my chest, the tight, sore, raw sensation of inflamed bronchi. I really did not want to stay home. Mondays are heavy mail days, lots of boxes and things coming into the library. However, I don't want to risk my boss getting sick: his immune system is weak and he tends to get sick with respiratory infections easily. Yes, I know, this must sound strange, I actually want to go to work. But the only reasons I am home is because I am contagious and because I am too dizzy to walk more than around the house.

Adam is going to Connecticut. He has been assigned to fix the broken internet server and computer of the king of Morocco, Mohammad Ben Al-Hassan, although he probably won't meet the man. (His company tends to work a lot with foreign dignitaries, diplomats, kings, princes, and higher-ups; Adam has helped set up equipment for US presidental campaigns as well.)
He will stay overnight and be home on Tuesday. I hope all goes well.

I ordered food. It'll be here soon.

the dog

I don't talk about this much at all, because it is frustrating to me... but I feel that after what happened today, I need to get it off my chest.
My patience with my husband's dog has officially worn so thin that it is nearly ripped.
Ralph is 21 years old. In dog years, that is almost 150. He is a mix of several breeds (mutts usually live a long time). He is a very sweet and gentle animal. He loves his master dearly... to the point where, at this point, he won't act the same for anyone else. He is smart, and cunning: He knows how to manipulate. And he has become devious in his old age.
Ralph has been suffering from severe arthritis and hip dysplasia for well over two years. It has, of course, gotten much worse. He is still able to get up off the floor, but it takes a few mintes. Unless, of course, it's for his beloved master. And Adam is not always home. Those are the times when it is noticeably bad. With me, Danny, and Jason, Ralph will struggle painfully. He will slip and fall. He will bark frantically and cry and whine. Sometimes Dan or Jason will have to physically pick him up and set him on his feet. He limps and shivers and shakes with every step.
Today, I feel, was the worst I have seen yet. I am very ill, and I am trying not to move too much. I let Ralph out the front door around noon, into the yard which is surrounded by a wooden fence and gate. It was a sunny day, so I left him outside. He usually likes to lie in front of the door. And he won't move. You would have to push the door into him, and if he didn't get up and walk, he would slide, pathetically, across the ground. Around six, I opened the door and encouraged Ralph to get up and come inside for dinner. After ten minutes of scrabbling, whining, crying, desperate barking, and slipping and falling, Ralph just looked at me and lay his head on his paws. I closed the door, put his food in his bowl, and brought it out to him. Half an hour later, I came back outside and got behind him and again encouraged him to get up. No luck. I even attempted to put my arms around him and pick him up. Ralph is approximately half my weight, and barrel shaped. Not only was he too heavy, but he purposely slipped from my grasp and bared his teeth very close to my arm. Again, I went inside.
A few minutes ago, I opened the front door yet again, and I just looked at him. And he struggled. And he got to his feet. He. Got. To. His. Feet. And. Stood. Up.
I should not be irritated or annoyed. He is very, very old, and basically dying.
But he is also manipulative and devious (as I have said).
I love my husband. He loves his dog. I love his dog, and I will be very sad when the time comes to let Ralph go. But, and I am not the only person who thinks this, that time is either coming up very very fast, or has already passed and Adam is now holding onto Ralph purely for sentimental reasons.

I know my husband will most likely read this. I know he will hear the anger in my voice. And right now, I don't care. I'm done. I'm done with it. I cannot watch this animal suffer anymore just because he "can still walk on his own". Honey, I understand you want to spend as much time as possible with your dog because his time is coming fast, and you don't want to put him down until he is so bad he cannot get up on his own. But I am unable to look him in the eyes anymore and not cry.

the dog

I don't talk about this much at all, because it is frustrating to me... but I feel that after what happened today, I need to get it off my chest.
My patience with my husband's dog has officially worn so thin that it is nearly ripped.
Ralph is 21 years old. In dog years, that is almost 150. He is a mix of several breeds (mutts usually live a long time). He is a very sweet and gentle animal. He loves his master dearly... to the point where, at this point, he won't act the same for anyone else. He is smart, and cunning: He knows how to manipulate. And he has become devious in his old age.
Ralph has been suffering from severe arthritis and hip dysplasia for well over two years. It has, of course, gotten much worse. He is still able to get up off the floor, but it takes a few mintes. Unless, of course, it's for his beloved master. And Adam is not always home. Those are the times when it is noticeably bad. With me, Danny, and Jason, Ralph will struggle painfully. He will slip and fall. He will bark frantically and cry and whine. Sometimes Dan or Jason will have to physically pick him up and set him on his feet. He limps and shivers and shakes with every step.
Today, I feel, was the worst I have seen yet. I am very ill, and I am trying not to move too much. I let Ralph out the front door around noon, into the yard which is surrounded by a wooden fence and gate. It was a sunny day, so I left him outside. He usually likes to lie in front of the door. And he won't move. You would have to push the door into him, and if he didn't get up and walk, he would slide, pathetically, across the ground. Around six, I opened the door and encouraged Ralph to get up and come inside for dinner. After ten minutes of scrabbling, whining, crying, desperate barking, and slipping and falling, Ralph just looked at me and lay his head on his paws. I closed the door, put his food in his bowl, and brought it out to him. Half an hour later, I came back outside and got behind him and again encouraged him to get up. No luck. I even attempted to put my arms around him and pick him up. Ralph is approximately half my weight, and barrel shaped. Not only was he too heavy, but he purposely slipped from my grasp and bared his teeth very close to my arm. Again, I went inside.
A few minutes ago, I opened the front door yet again, and I just looked at him. And he struggled. And he got to his feet. He. Got. To. His. Feet. And. Stood. Up.
I should not be irritated or annoyed. He is very, very old, and basically dying.
But he is also manipulative and devious (as I have said).
I love my husband. He loves his dog. I love his dog, and I will be very sad when the time comes to let Ralph go. But, and I am not the only person who thinks this, that time is either coming up very very fast, or has already passed and Adam is now holding onto Ralph purely for sentimental reasons.

I know my husband will most likely read this. I know he will hear the anger in my voice. And right now, I don't care. I'm done. I'm done with it. I cannot watch this animal suffer anymore just because he "can still walk on his own". Honey, I understand you want to spend as much time as possible with your dog because his time is coming fast, and you don't want to put him down until he is so bad he cannot get up on his own. But I am unable to look him in the eyes anymore and not cry.

the dog

I don't talk about this much at all, because it is frustrating to me... but I feel that after what happened today, I need to get it off my chest.
My patience with my husband's dog has officially worn so thin that it is nearly ripped.
Ralph is 21 years old. In dog years, that is almost 150. He is a mix of several breeds (mutts usually live a long time). He is a very sweet and gentle animal. He loves his master dearly... to the point where, at this point, he won't act the same for anyone else. He is smart, and cunning: He knows how to manipulate. And he has become devious in his old age.
Ralph has been suffering from severe arthritis and hip dysplasia for well over two years. It has, of course, gotten much worse. He is still able to get up off the floor, but it takes a few mintes. Unless, of course, it's for his beloved master. And Adam is not always home. Those are the times when it is noticeably bad. With me, Danny, and Jason, Ralph will struggle painfully. He will slip and fall. He will bark frantically and cry and whine. Sometimes Dan or Jason will have to physically pick him up and set him on his feet. He limps and shivers and shakes with every step.
Today, I feel, was the worst I have seen yet. I am very ill, and I am trying not to move too much. I let Ralph out the front door around noon, into the yard which is surrounded by a wooden fence and gate. It was a sunny day, so I left him outside. He usually likes to lie in front of the door. And he won't move. You would have to push the door into him, and if he didn't get up and walk, he would slide, pathetically, across the ground. Around six, I opened the door and encouraged Ralph to get up and come inside for dinner. After ten minutes of scrabbling, whining, crying, desperate barking, and slipping and falling, Ralph just looked at me and lay his head on his paws. I closed the door, put his food in his bowl, and brought it out to him. Half an hour later, I came back outside and got behind him and again encouraged him to get up. No luck. I even attempted to put my arms around him and pick him up. Ralph is approximately half my weight, and barrel shaped. Not only was he too heavy, but he purposely slipped from my grasp and bared his teeth very close to my arm. Again, I went inside.
A few minutes ago, I opened the front door yet again, and I just looked at him. And he struggled. And he got to his feet. He. Got. To. His. Feet. And. Stood. Up.
I should not be irritated or annoyed. He is very, very old, and basically dying.
But he is also manipulative and devious (as I have said).
I love my husband. He loves his dog. I love his dog, and I will be very sad when the time comes to let Ralph go. But, and I am not the only person who thinks this, that time is either coming up very very fast, or has already passed and Adam is now holding onto Ralph purely for sentimental reasons.

I know my husband will most likely read this. I know he will hear the anger in my voice. And right now, I don't care. I'm done. I'm done with it. I cannot watch this animal suffer anymore just because he "can still walk on his own". Honey, I understand you want to spend as much time as possible with your dog because his time is coming fast, and you don't want to put him down until he is so bad he cannot get up on his own. But I am unable to look him in the eyes anymore and not cry.

No. No. No, oh my gods, no.

Hi! My name is Beer, and this is my friend Toilet. Wanna hook up sometime?

"Meanwhile, I think it's time to say a few words about gushing about a name's "meaning." Some meanings originate because the name evolved from real word (usually in a foreign language). And so their meanings are somewhat interesting.
And then some names have arbitrary meanings that for all I can tell were pulled out of a dead monkey's ass. For example, check out my good buddies the Kabalarians, who have insightful (cough) "meanings" for classy names like Beer and Toilet. I love the Kabalarians, because every one of their name analyses reads even more vague and general than the astrology listings in the newspaper.
And then some names don't have secret "meanings" because they are (dum dum DUM!) ALREADY WORDS. Sure, it'd be one hell of an irony if the name Sun meant "ugly fat pockmarked bastard," but I think it's a fair guess in English it means ... um ... wait, give me a second ... oh yeah, "sun." As in the giant ball of warmth and light that makes life possible for trees and flowers and baby bunnies and such."

No. No. No, oh my gods, no.

Hi! My name is Beer, and this is my friend Toilet. Wanna hook up sometime?

"Meanwhile, I think it's time to say a few words about gushing about a name's "meaning." Some meanings originate because the name evolved from real word (usually in a foreign language). And so their meanings are somewhat interesting.
And then some names have arbitrary meanings that for all I can tell were pulled out of a dead monkey's ass. For example, check out my good buddies the Kabalarians, who have insightful (cough) "meanings" for classy names like Beer and Toilet. I love the Kabalarians, because every one of their name analyses reads even more vague and general than the astrology listings in the newspaper.
And then some names don't have secret "meanings" because they are (dum dum DUM!) ALREADY WORDS. Sure, it'd be one hell of an irony if the name Sun meant "ugly fat pockmarked bastard," but I think it's a fair guess in English it means ... um ... wait, give me a second ... oh yeah, "sun." As in the giant ball of warmth and light that makes life possible for trees and flowers and baby bunnies and such."

No. No. No, oh my gods, no.

Hi! My name is Beer, and this is my friend Toilet. Wanna hook up sometime?

"Meanwhile, I think it's time to say a few words about gushing about a name's "meaning." Some meanings originate because the name evolved from real word (usually in a foreign language). And so their meanings are somewhat interesting.
And then some names have arbitrary meanings that for all I can tell were pulled out of a dead monkey's ass. For example, check out my good buddies the Kabalarians, who have insightful (cough) "meanings" for classy names like Beer and Toilet. I love the Kabalarians, because every one of their name analyses reads even more vague and general than the astrology listings in the newspaper.
And then some names don't have secret "meanings" because they are (dum dum DUM!) ALREADY WORDS. Sure, it'd be one hell of an irony if the name Sun meant "ugly fat pockmarked bastard," but I think it's a fair guess in English it means ... um ... wait, give me a second ... oh yeah, "sun." As in the giant ball of warmth and light that makes life possible for trees and flowers and baby bunnies and such."