(no subject)
I used to completely hate the summer. Too hot, too bright, too smelly, too dirty, and I sleep so much better when it rains.
I have to carry a towel to mop up all my sweat, and I have so much body shame that I can't make myself wear light clothing, because I don't like to expose my stuff, and and and.
But I must admit, no matter how uncomfortable I feel on any given day over the warm months, it still gives me a lot of pleasure and happiness to be able to open our windows for Pan so she can sniff the world, and to be able to leave them open longer than I could in winter, for example, since I close her personal window at sunset to protect raccoons from her mighty wrath.
She hears that latch creak and she comes running, knowing it's time to sniff.
Oh, my girl.
It's almost time to take her in for x-rays again, but I'm very pleased to tell you that it's just a formality right now, that she's still doing well on her medication, that my sacrifices have been totally and completely worth it. (Not to say she's more important than my family is--my family who I've seen only rarely this past year--but her life is worth more than a drunken overnighter, surely.)
I've been exhausted beyond the telling of it, these past couple of weeks, because my mom's in hospital, a distance away--she'll be okay eventually, but not today--so I've been overextending myself quite a bit, between my introvert probs and trying to make time for both she and my Pancake.
So when I developed a boil/carbuncle/cellulitis again, I was halfway glad to have to say "Oh sorry, I can't see you Saturday, I have to go to the walk-in clinic."
I tried and tried to sleep in yesterday, but Pan had secretly eaten all her dinner without any special encouragement from me, and she sat beside me in bed, tapping my arm. Left paw, tap-tap. Right paw, tap-tap. Just again and again, two gentle taps, one paw at a time.
I was fucking beat and in pain and stressed to the point of hysteria and I still found it in me to laugh.
Oh, my girl.
I have to carry a towel to mop up all my sweat, and I have so much body shame that I can't make myself wear light clothing, because I don't like to expose my stuff, and and and.
But I must admit, no matter how uncomfortable I feel on any given day over the warm months, it still gives me a lot of pleasure and happiness to be able to open our windows for Pan so she can sniff the world, and to be able to leave them open longer than I could in winter, for example, since I close her personal window at sunset to protect raccoons from her mighty wrath.
She hears that latch creak and she comes running, knowing it's time to sniff.
Oh, my girl.
It's almost time to take her in for x-rays again, but I'm very pleased to tell you that it's just a formality right now, that she's still doing well on her medication, that my sacrifices have been totally and completely worth it. (Not to say she's more important than my family is--my family who I've seen only rarely this past year--but her life is worth more than a drunken overnighter, surely.)
I've been exhausted beyond the telling of it, these past couple of weeks, because my mom's in hospital, a distance away--she'll be okay eventually, but not today--so I've been overextending myself quite a bit, between my introvert probs and trying to make time for both she and my Pancake.
So when I developed a boil/carbuncle/cellulitis again, I was halfway glad to have to say "Oh sorry, I can't see you Saturday, I have to go to the walk-in clinic."
I tried and tried to sleep in yesterday, but Pan had secretly eaten all her dinner without any special encouragement from me, and she sat beside me in bed, tapping my arm. Left paw, tap-tap. Right paw, tap-tap. Just again and again, two gentle taps, one paw at a time.
I was fucking beat and in pain and stressed to the point of hysteria and I still found it in me to laugh.
Oh, my girl.