Cross
I'm kind of a wreck today.
To begin with, another helping of everyone's favorite dish: Overshare A La Mode. Here it comes.
Got an IUD inserted today. It was brief, but it hurt. And it still hurts, which makes everything else suckier.
Now that's over with. On to the second course.
After the IUD appointment, I tried to donate blood, again. But wait, let's back up. The second to last time I drove my ass all the way out to freaking Claremont Ave. to the Red Cross Donor Center, which by the way takes a freaking half hour because I always schedule an appointment at the height of the insanity that is the evening traffic on College Ave, the needle technician (whatever) couldn't find a vein. They can never find my goddamn veins. My veins are like little hollow HAIRS that somehow deliver blood to my extremities, and they are impossible to puncture with those pitchforks that they call needles. So, after having my arms stabbed multiple times, they finally found one, but the flow of blood wasn't strong or fast enough because I have low blood pressure which makes me a VERY FUCKING RELAXED PERSON. So they took the needle out and sent me home.
The last time I tried to donate, they sent me away because I had a cold. An hour in the car for that.
And today, my hemoglobin wasn't high enough. I was an 11.8, and I needed to be a 12.5 to donate. WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS. My favorite part is that after they inform you that you cannot donate, they funnel you back to the front desk and FORCE YOU TO RESCHEDULE. This time, I kind of lost it and sort of snapped at the incredibly nice lady at the desk and basically worked myself into what was essentially a tearful frenzy. She gave me her card and told me to call her when I felt ready. She is nice. She is nice. She is a good person and my total insufficiency as a blood donor is not her fault.
I try to be altruistic, and give of my bodily fluids to those in need. But I am DONE with this circus.
Then I came home, and Harriet (my incredibly old cat, for those of you who for some reason don't know that) was lying next to her food dish, covered in dirt. I guess she was rolling around in the flower beds, as she is wont to do when it is sunny, but she lacks the capacity to clean herself off afterwards. And, I discovered after watching her and then lifting her to her feet, that her left hind leg wasn't working very well. It just buckled underneath her. In fact, neither of her hind legs work very well anymore, and she spends a lot of time lying on the ground because she can't pick herself up. She is deaf, arthritic, senile, and just the absolute saddest sack you have ever seen.
Harriet won't be with us much longer. I mean, we've been saying that for years, but the speed at which she has declined even in the past three days makes it all too immediate. Twenty years, she has been my friend. And I am very sad that she will be gone soon.
In sum, I am crampy, anemic, and grieving for my cat.
This has been a big, whiny rant. Thank you, livejournal, for being the most comically appropriate place for outpourings of incredible angst.
(Here's a stupid picture of my stupid cat. My dad took it a couple days ago, because we realized that we have to have conversations like "do we put the cat down," and take "one last shot before she's dead" pictures. Everything sucks.)
To begin with, another helping of everyone's favorite dish: Overshare A La Mode. Here it comes.
Got an IUD inserted today. It was brief, but it hurt. And it still hurts, which makes everything else suckier.
Now that's over with. On to the second course.
After the IUD appointment, I tried to donate blood, again. But wait, let's back up. The second to last time I drove my ass all the way out to freaking Claremont Ave. to the Red Cross Donor Center, which by the way takes a freaking half hour because I always schedule an appointment at the height of the insanity that is the evening traffic on College Ave, the needle technician (whatever) couldn't find a vein. They can never find my goddamn veins. My veins are like little hollow HAIRS that somehow deliver blood to my extremities, and they are impossible to puncture with those pitchforks that they call needles. So, after having my arms stabbed multiple times, they finally found one, but the flow of blood wasn't strong or fast enough because I have low blood pressure which makes me a VERY FUCKING RELAXED PERSON. So they took the needle out and sent me home.
The last time I tried to donate, they sent me away because I had a cold. An hour in the car for that.
And today, my hemoglobin wasn't high enough. I was an 11.8, and I needed to be a 12.5 to donate. WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS. My favorite part is that after they inform you that you cannot donate, they funnel you back to the front desk and FORCE YOU TO RESCHEDULE. This time, I kind of lost it and sort of snapped at the incredibly nice lady at the desk and basically worked myself into what was essentially a tearful frenzy. She gave me her card and told me to call her when I felt ready. She is nice. She is nice. She is a good person and my total insufficiency as a blood donor is not her fault.
I try to be altruistic, and give of my bodily fluids to those in need. But I am DONE with this circus.
Then I came home, and Harriet (my incredibly old cat, for those of you who for some reason don't know that) was lying next to her food dish, covered in dirt. I guess she was rolling around in the flower beds, as she is wont to do when it is sunny, but she lacks the capacity to clean herself off afterwards. And, I discovered after watching her and then lifting her to her feet, that her left hind leg wasn't working very well. It just buckled underneath her. In fact, neither of her hind legs work very well anymore, and she spends a lot of time lying on the ground because she can't pick herself up. She is deaf, arthritic, senile, and just the absolute saddest sack you have ever seen.
Harriet won't be with us much longer. I mean, we've been saying that for years, but the speed at which she has declined even in the past three days makes it all too immediate. Twenty years, she has been my friend. And I am very sad that she will be gone soon.
In sum, I am crampy, anemic, and grieving for my cat.
This has been a big, whiny rant. Thank you, livejournal, for being the most comically appropriate place for outpourings of incredible angst.
(Here's a stupid picture of my stupid cat. My dad took it a couple days ago, because we realized that we have to have conversations like "do we put the cat down," and take "one last shot before she's dead" pictures. Everything sucks.)