So news first... for the last two decades or so, doctors have marveled at how my heart murmurs and wrote orders for echocardiograms which I neglected to fulfill... and if they gave me the paper copy, I would throw it in the nearest receptacle after leaving the office. My heart's like every other muscle in my body, and it's gonna break just like the rest of them have done or will do. It will do what it wants, and I will not be able to stop it. The latest doctor I've seen marveled at it on my first visit, and we discussed a few visits later... What happens after I get the echo? And since I've no intention of prolonging this life through the means my parents have used to prolong theirs, it's always seemed pointless to me to bother with it. If there's not a pill I can take to make it bearable, why muck with it?
But this year... the middle of my back been's causing greater pain that normal... kinda near where my lungs are... and my depression's gotten worse, and my meds don't work quite as well as they used to do, and I'm too hopeless these days. Almost as bad as I was four years ago. Four years ago I was in fuck it mode. I was waiting on the good Lord to take me, assuming I was worthy of the rescue. Knowing my history, I'm more likely bound to be raging at the surface or sinking in the abyss of the river Styx. And maybe if I could fix my heart to doctors' best ability, maybe that'll alleviate the depression and the pain in my back. It's in my legs, too. It's basically everywhere. It makes me tired.
This doctor let me listen to my heart, and then he let me listen to his. Mine sounds pretty bad, yall. Not at all what it should sound like. Not a clean thump thump but a whoosh whoosh whoosh, like the sound water makes when it is pushed through a flapping door. And the thump thump is buried underneath that. I can hear it in my head at night as I'm trying to sleep. He said mine's something like a three or four. I'm thinking of cancer stages... three or four can't be good.
I'm housesitting for a friend. She introduced me to another friend who lives on her street, and that woman asked me to care for her cat, Roxy. I housesat for another friend before sitting for this one, and the cat's needs overlapped.
I'm barely hanging on to sanity right now. I've quit drinking because the doctor prescribed new medicine to alleviate the rage and firmly ordered me to stop drinking.
In the past few years, I've come to know that I would've been a horrible teacher, and know I'm seeing I would've been a much worse mother. And I can't tend house worth a damn because I'm too concerned with myself and nothing else.
The cat made a mess on the carpet. I cleaned it up but failed to clean out the machine after... mostly because I was too afraid of breaking it. I suspect she'll never ask me to care for her cat again. I can tell you, when I went into the house today to find it still not there (I'd asked her if I could use it the day before), I texted see if I could borrow the cleaner to clean up the piss on the rug of the friend who introduced me to the cat... she texted me: I think I don’t actually want all of everyone’s pet poopoo in it. I’m sorry. It’s hard enough for me to clean it out after cleaning up Roxys messes. The day before she'd agreed to let me borrow it but bring it back so they could use it if the cat made a mess. But today, I got that text. So either the folks who are now watching their cat used it to clean up a mess one of their animals had made in their home OR they'd complained to this woman that I'd left it foul.
So the three dogs here... they exhaust me, and I'm feeling more like I should ask this friend to find someone else to watch them in the future because I'm doing such a lousy job of it. These are puppies. Can you imagine how shitty I'd be with children??
All these dreams I've had... they die ugly deaths... one by one.
And so now... now, I very much would love to be that hermit.