Self Abuse

Last weekend, I went down to Lothlorien to help with the structure of the new Thunder Dome. I came home after 6 hours of priming metal, (with this very cool primer stuff that bonds with the rust of the metal and turns into this permanent coating of hard black something, very cool)sanding metal poles (the hand job jokes never stopped being funny... well until about 4:30 when I was getting grumpy) spray painting to color code the different size poles, and generally just hauling big heavy hunks of metal around to be painted. I wanted to collapse into bed and lie there forever. I felt like I'd been beaten and left for dead by an elf, and my sense of humor was at non-existant levels.

Did I stay home? No, that would be completely rational. I got a call from a friend and went over to her house to hang out with her and her new man, The Man. Hehe. Anyway, Sunday, I was liquid goo in motion. My kid to shove me out of his bed when they were going to sleep, go sleep in your own bed! Actually, bless his heart, I told him I couldn't get up and I would have to sleep in his bed and asked him what he would do. He said.. I would sleep with you then. *laughs*

I think I was suffering from heat exhaustion. I felt guilty about that. I hate the sun, I loathe tan lines and I fear skin cancer. My complexion is fair and simply asking for trouble. Just Friday, I was at the dermatologist for a completely unrelated reason, and when we were finished, he took off my glasses and peered at my face. "you need to wear sunscreen." I bowed my head in submission. I know, I stammered in guilt, but it breaks out my face. "then wear a hat" Ok.

I tried to wear a hat on Saturday, I had good intentions. I stole this hat from my ex. It's blue denim and I loved it from the minute I suggested to him he buy it for himself. Somewhere in there, I guess I had the idea that I could wear it if it was in the household, and I could justify buying it if it were for someone else, someone with a gleaming bald head and fair complexion that had an actual *need* for sun protection, where I just had a covetous desire born of millinery sluttery. When he became my ex, he didn't take it with him. In fact, I'm not sure he ever wore it at all. That suited me just fine, because I wanted it for *me*. Heh, maybe he never even bought my thin assertion that it was for him in the first place. Who knows now. All I know is that he left and the hat didn't, so it's mine by virtue of the fact that I've lived in two seperate places since he left and had to pack it in a box and take it with me. If that's not justifiable ownership, I don't know what is.

I had this brilliant idea to get a cat. Not just any cat, but a ragdoll. The breed is beautiful, they don't shed much even tho they have long hair. Brilliant blue eyes (a weakness of mine, to be sure) and cheery disposition. Completely unsuited to outdoor living in any way, since they'd been breed for docility. I'd like to know what I was thinking since the last thing in the world I respect in *anything* is docility, and especially in a predator. What I wanted was for something to give a shit when I came home at night, *if* I came home at night. With the kids so frequently at their dad's, my house was lonely, boring and eerily quiet. A longing for physical affection coming from a completely unobjective living being drove me to get a pet. Lack of time to train, low willingness to commit to being home *every* day and a burning desire on the part of my eldest child led me towards a cat in particular.

This cat peed everywhere. It was amazing. I didn't know so much pee could be in a cat, and I didn't know a cat would *want* to pee in so many places. When the weather got warm, my house reeked. I waited for the inevitable comment from the father of my kids, hater of cats, and pointer outer of my faults. Fortunately, by the time the comment did come, I was well on the path to getting rid of the foul beast, and my general opinion of having a cat in the house was right up there with his by then. I like cats, but I don't like litter boxes. I like purring, but I don't like shedding. I can actually tolerate a cat that goes outside most of the time and comes inside to purr and frolic, then goes about its business of being a barely tamed predator running amok in the world. That is not the kind of cat a ragdoll is.

I put on the hat (you wondered why this was relevant, right?) and it looked great. I think this was the first time I'd actually worn the hat, the first time I'd claimed it as mine and decided that he was no longer the official owner of said hat, and that it could officially be declared as abandoned since he never asked for it in all the times he was in my house and it was in my closet behind a closed door. I bop on out to the car, the hat jauntily on my head. The car is warm. Suddenly, there is a smell I recognized from the nightmares of my choices gone bad... cat pee.

DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT!!! The fucking cat pissed on my hat. MY HAT. I stole that hat good and proper, and the damn cat dares to pee on it??? While Karma may have slapped me around like a bitch, it's well known I like that kind of treatment, and this is why we have oxyclean, so NYAH! It's in the washing machine as we speak, being de-catpeetized with the wonderful use of modern pharmaceuticals. I love denim.