A bookless lunch

I forgot to put a new one in my purse.

So THIS has been a week.

In my brilliance I felt, with the impending move next month, it would be nice to hand my book off to an editor on June 1. Not have it to worry about. Sure makes sense, just now I have to have it ready for them in a week. Time to breathe into a bag.

But that’s fun enough stress, and I’m BEYOND excited that someone other than me is reading it, a literary someone at that! Ahhhhh!

But then. There’s finding a place to live. It’s draining the life out of me. Here are our criteria:

Must allow cats (NON NEGOTIABLE)

Laundry in unit (exception could be made for affordable enough place because laundry services, or a place with just hookups)

Minimum two bedroom. Minimum square footage, eh at least 750.

Not in an area where I’ll be afraid to walk out to my car alone in the morning Or afraid to be home alone at night.

Rent $1000 or less

Uninvolved landlord resulting in my husband’s ability to grow pot (for HIM this is non-negotiable)

Must at least come with a fridge and stove and garbage disposal

A dishwasher and central air is OUT of the fucking question.

You like how ALL of those could be fulfilled with A FUCKING APARTMENT including the fantasy appliances, except the ONLY thing that matters to my husband.

Then, if those two things weren’t enough…..

Last week I noticed my cat Oscar was walking strangely. I took him to the vet on Monday, they took an X-ray and said there was no visible damage, but a blood test he had while he was there revealed kidney failure, so now he has to eat prescription food. BUT, his walking is SO much worse now. He’s on a supplement and a painkiller and can barely move his back legs, he sleeps on a cardboard scratcher shaped like a couch and gets up to eat and piss, that’s it. It’s like he’s dying. I don’t know what to do. How did he get so bad so fast? Why did the rude ass judgmental vet and the BRAINLESS vet tech (this bitch couldn’t find my cats asshole to take his temperature, THATS how dumb she was….) seem to make him worse???? Should I pay another $150 at a different vet to find out if they lied to me? Is it like a mechanic that lets a problem go because they’ll know you’ll be back with a way more expensive repair in a month????? My poor little man.

I’ve had Oscar since I was 17. Thinking about not having him in my life makes me start to cry, in the break room at work. Any time I think of it. Idk.


Things are shit right now.

Next months I’m sure I’ll be better