Wednesday: Basic Instructions
Ya know when you hit your limit break - when you have so much to say and yet feel like it's just not worth the effort of saying at all.
But due to my advancing years and various other issues, I should and need to record what happened so I can at least have a record to stand back and go "Ok, I wasn't in a coma." Like I wish I had recorded exactly when I had injured my foot. I really can't tell if it was 4 or 6 months ago. That's important to doctors.
The exhausting task (everything is currently exhausting - I'm still recovering from bronchitis) is organizing everything so it's interesting and it flows well. That means planning ahead what point and feeling I want out of my writing. Where I want the reader to focus. My focus is all over the place. What's important to me? All of it.
Let's get started anyway. I've had a hell of a past 10 days.
So, since 3am Monday the 13th, I've been expecting Nox to literally die. Every phone call, every update - almost every hour. The vet never once mentioned letting him go. In fact, they refer to him as a miracle. A miracle that has promptly pissed on the fridge, the desk and somewhere in the bedroom I could hear but never find as I was initially working and didn't realize what I was hearing. We can't get his sugar down. Since Monday the 20th, when he came home - we have not been able to get his blood sugar down and he's a walking pile of bones that looks like he's 8 going on 18. He wobbles, his eyes are a funny shape in his skull - but he grabbed my hand and stuffed his nose into the palm and held it for a long time. He's currently at the door, hoping to get out and get into more poisonous food and only now am I allowing myself a few tears at the situation. I don't know how much Lili paid for. Not once did the vet mention price or even go over prices with me. It was very different from the emergency clinic where every step was monetized.
All I know is she spent 40 minutes on hold with her bank and she's extremely wealthy. So - that much. Enough that they made her wait.
Thank you, Lili.
So the Nox saga is not over. I am literally expecting him to die every fucking hour. Still. It's the same level of stress I've been feeling since this time in 2019. Yesterday, he stole frozen food off Trey's plate and we can only hope Oscar got it. The camera recorded Nox making off with it but we couldn't find it. If he stashed it somewhere to thaw to eat later - then he's dead. There's nothing I can do. Kevin and I did our best to help Trey locate the missing food. However with both of us recovering from bronchitis means Kevin and I can't exactly bend down to search the floor, cabinets, bookshelves and under furniture. We've tried but it's like deep sea diving without a tank - the pressure builds in our heads and we come up gasping.
So there's that. Nox still throws up, still can't get his sugar below, still wobbles, still pees on things and right now is desperately trying to get out to get the other cats food. That he can't hold down. And his water fountain broke. Poor cat.
I got diagnosed with Asthmatic Bronchitis. And promptly forgot to send my doctor's note to Toadies - making them chase me down Friday where I was in a restaurant getting food into my little brother. So hearing loud music must have gone over damn well with my boss.
My foot was Xrayed Monday. We wait.
I told Doc about the issue where after 10 minutes of laying down, I am suddenly cold. Not just feeling cold but my very nose is numb with cold - I am cold as if I were in a freezer.
"I have no idea."
So, no clue. Plus it seemed to stop this week but a lot was going on. I probably fell asleep from it happened.
Not to be outdone - Kevin was diagnosed with having HAD the flue, got a sinus infection and then developed bronchitis.
So the mere glimmer of hope that he would be applying for a job 2 days ago has evaporated. I need him to get this job or the Inventory one but at the moment, he can barely doing anything without coming out of it harder than me. Frankly, I cannot take care of him. I need him to take care of me. My doctor's note was for return to work yesterday. This meant I've missed an entire week of pay from Toadies. It also means this is my weekend from Toadies as I have Tuesday and Wednesday off. Tomorrow I have to work morning job and then go to work evening job. I still do not feel well to handle cleaning my own kitchen let alone a restaurant. Hell, I road the snooze 90 fucking minutes this morning.
I ended up missing all 3 physical meetings for Dream Job work.
I started drinking again because it actually suppresses a lot of the coughing. Which is odd - that's never ever worked before in my life.
Don't worry - I'm too broke to buy new bottles. I have a finite supply.
Oh and I can't rinse a fucking plate in my kitchen sink. Just what I really want during a health crisis in my house: shitty sanitation.
My little brother's visit went fucking well as could be expected. It was the bright spot to an otherwise agonizing time. He slid in alongside my friends and roommates like he'd always been here. He did have fun. He did not care that he is potentially carrying bronchitis back north. He even repaired
trickykitty's flange and my shower.
I had to spend money on dining out because I couldn't cook in this condition. Which is a pity - I had a few meals even picked out and planned. Plus I'm out the extra $200 I had for cushion. I literally have no cushion right now but I should hopefully get at least 1 week pay Monday. That $10 gas should cover me. We tanked him up at Whataburger.
We didn't get to go over recording lines - the point to him coming here - but he chuckled at the scripts he was in. At least he found them funny. And we think we found his character's voice.
He got to meet one of Becky's kids which a note to myself.
He plans to return during my 50th birthday next year. I sincerely worry if that will happen. Dad held me and said "Don't let it be another 7 years." but died before his 50th. I let slip to my brother "Don't let it be another 6 years." so that's on me.
So here I am, trying to save as many memories as possible - feeling extreme anxiety at going to evening work tomorrow and I genuinely can't tell if it's because I'm afraid I'll be sent home and seen as unreliable or if it's because I'll be there until 2am, getting worse.
I'm saving my steroid pills and my albuterol breathing treatments for the weekend. I need to keep working. Just a few more months.
But I also need to run my house so after this, I'm making a full list of what needs to be done and when to keep it from becoming a cesspit of disease.
I need a plan of attack.