Butchy
Yesterday I talked to Hunky Vet on the phone. In the middle of all the tumult about Gracie, I had taken Butch to the vet. And what Hunky Vet told me that I decided not to hear, was that Butch has the same thing Gracie had. He's in renal failure.
Yesterday, I made Hunky Vet spell it out for me, although I've been through this half a dozen times before. Yes, it may be that getting subcu fluids a couple of times a week could help him. On my way home from work yesterday, I picked up the kit, the line, the needles, the bag of Ringer's. In the evening, I marked out the 100 ccs where I could see it, then took Butch with me into the bathroom. The bag was hanging from a robe hook on the back of the bathroom door. I got the needle in him, started the fluid, and told him was a handsome, brave, and wonderful kitty he was.
He got tired of it just as the line reached 100 ccs. The needle popped out and we both got spritzed with the solution. Butch had a bizarre hump on his back.
This evening when I got home, he had peed. And peed. And peed. Had probably peed out last night's solution and then some.
I'm used to this now. I clean it up, spray disinfectant on it, mop it up again, spray more disinfectant, and then pick Butchy up, put him on my shoulder and tell him he is a good, good kitty.
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Lists. And Lists of Lists.
Someone who shall remain nameless mocked me recently for my lists. My lists and then my lists of lists.
There is such comfort in this. It gives the brief illusion of control where little control is to be found and heartens me to control what I can control.
Today, I realized that I don't know how on earth I'm going to afford The Temple to the Bath Goddess. I just barely stopped short of hyperventilating. I totted up all my debt, added that to it and thought, dear God. How on earth can I afford anything?
I get my gym membership at a wildly reduced rate and I have been going, so I'll keep that up. But everything else - the Sunday movie every single Sunday, the kayaking lesson, the trips into NYC, vacation, books, new clothes, they all get crossed off the budget list.
I've been here before. I know I can cope. Strangely, saving money is like dieting. You do them by not doing them, if you know what I mean. You can't actively go out and not eat. You can't actively go out and not spend money.
Then I made another list, a list of what I have. A list of things I need to do and things that will entertain me. Don't forget, I've got a piano and I'm not afraid to use it. And books and books of music. And lesson books. (Bach is hard. Did you know that? My hands, after nearly 40 years of typing, do not want to do things at the same time. They don't mind doing the same thing at the same time, but you throw a little counterpoint into it and I'm in the weeds.)
Tonight, when I came home I had such a weird mishmash of leftovers that I had to eat each item separately and I couldn't think about them all being on the same plate together. Yeah, the old OCD acts up sometimes, too.
My lists heartily remind me that I have lots and lots of clothes, that I have lots of shoes, books, videos, cats, music, and so on. It does hearten me.
How many times have I been to this place?
When I was in college, living in my own apartment.
When I was dating Xman and my long-distance phone bill was more than my rent.
When I decided to ditch Mighty Citadel the Divestiture Years, when I was going to write the great American romance, no, mystery, no, suspense novel.
When I decided to ditch Xman.
When Evil Empire laid me off.
I've been here before. It's always nice to take a break from it. Oh, I loved that freedom while it lasted.
When people say time is money, I say money is freedom.
Welcome back to this place, I say to myself. As cells go, it's really pretty comfy.
1 comment:
My very beloved husband and I go around and around on this issue. For years, we've seen money differently. We knew it going in that it would be one of our big sticking points.
He has never, ever, ever been without money. He's been temporarily strapped. He's been forced to save for something. But never has he experienced that feeling of "I can't afford to eat".
I have. Oh, I didn't suffer greatly, but it was a reality in my life. After my parents divorced, I knew it -- with mom, we ate a lot of Mac-n-cheese, while with my dad we had whatever we wanted. Dad would give me toys and books and whatever I wanted -- mom got the Box O' Clothes passed among the relatives from which she pulled things for me (ahh, and this was the early 70s, too).
As an adult, I keep handy that it takes very little to be suddenly "without". My husband, on the other hand, will spend with total confidence and then have rip-roaring panic attacks when he sees the bills -- once his panic subsides, he goes back to spending. It is very hard for him to live on a budget, buy the cheaper brand, not get what he wants when he wants it, or turn off lights when he leaves a room. Seriously, he doesn't put it together despite the fact he can do math in his head while I need a calculator and a double check.
Money is freedom, at least in our culture. I completely agree with you. And I still hope you get your Temple. Maybe you can apply for tax exempt status as a religious organization ;)
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