Random Musings

Hmm..I heard it may snow tonight. It wouldn't be a big surprise, it's happened before. One spring we had like nine feet of snow at the end of March into April. That winter I happened to live in this little cabin and we had to shovel about a quarter mile path into the woods to get there; so I remember the snow well that year. Even though there's no shovelling for me this year, I could still do without more snow. It does not, in fact, seem cold enough to snow. But you never know, it's always the warmest when I get here and then it gets colder and colder as the night goes on until right before the sun comes up - that is by far the most frigid part of the night.

We buried Chuck Norris at my mom's house last night. We drove down to spend the night for Easter. We had to get back for work tonight so we didn't get to spend much time there. We buried C. Norris and had dinner, fell asleep and drove back to our part of NH to dose. I had not even a full glass of white wine w/dinner and I felt so sick this morning, I puked before we drove home. I don't know why, man, but I cannot stomach wine at all these days. Especially if the bottle has been open for a night already, I'm totally in for it. And even though I am totally aware that I will be sick, I always tell myself I'll be fine and I do it time and time again, despite knowing full well the shitty consequences.

Nice, I love it when time goes by quickly at work. Of course, logically, I know that time always moves at the same pace. Putting aside logic, we all know that time most certainly does not move at the same pace. When I'm tired time seems to drag, and I'm tired tonight so it's unusual for time to be flitting by so nicely. I was reminded last night of why I am so glad that I do not live at home with my mother and three siblings. My two brothers and my sister all still live at home, and it being a Saturday night, had friends tromping in, out, and about the house until the wee hours. And they just flip on lights and laugh and shout like there is not anyone trying to sleep right in the room next to them. And it's not as if they're teenagers anymore. Well, my youngest brother Sam is eighteen so I can't blame him for being thoughtless. But the other two should be more respectful - in fact, they should have their own places by now.

Wow. This is so not at all interesting. Apparently my brother was uninvited to Easter dinner because a couple days ago he was down in Boston and he was with my cousin buying some opiate products when they were spotted by another family member. And my cousin, Hannah, had so thoughtfully decided to bring her toddler along for the ride, with no car seat, on a drug run. And my aunt, ever willing to come up with any reason to lay blame anywhere but on her own daughter, blames Scooter for bring baby Mark with them. He's not the kid's mother, or father, he has no control over what she does with her son. She's been using since way before she had Mark, and throughout her pregnancy, and never really ever stopped. Actually, the first time I ever got high on an opiate was courtesy of Hannah. Yet my extended family has always labelled me and my sibling as the "druggie" grandchildren.

I know this is because my mom is the first to wail about her problems to her sisters but they keep their lips sealed when it comes to anything that may make them look bad. And although she is quite good at passing on the bad news, she is not so practiced at spreading the good news. Everyone knows when one of us gets arrested, but don't expect to have announcements made for getting a new job or apartment, or whatnot. I guess that's just human nature, we focus on the negative and take the positive for granted.

I hate police scanners by the way. They let on just enough information for you to become intrigued and then that's it, over. You would think that they would have better communication devices for police, but these things are like archaic. They look like mini versions of the first VCR's, like something out of the seventies. All black and big-knobbed, with fuzzy, chopped up communications. And really, I have yet to understand why on earth we need one here in the "Guard" shack. We do not ever interact with the police. Do we honestly need to know what they're talking about, half-way at that? I think one of the wannabe-cop weirdos who work the day shift brought it in to satisfy in some slight way their search for power.

I read all this shit out there by people who say they still get high while on methadone. Are you guys skipping days and then getting high, or are you on wicked low doses? Cuz even though I've gone way down and have managed to stay at 30mg for a few months, I still don't feel shit when I use H. I haven't used in a while, not since I tried to kick the m-done, but man I wanted to get high yesterday. And honestly, if I thought I could have, I would have.

We had to euthanize one of our cats, Chuck Norris, and that's just so fucked up. He was such a good cat and he was only a year old. He was totally healthy it seemed and we took him to get fixed and get his shots last Saturday and he seemed really messed up from the anesthesia but eventually he began to walk around and eat, so we thought he was recovering fine. But I woke up the morning before yesterday and he was all small and frail looking, hunched under a shelf in the bathroom, drooling. It was obvious something wasn't right and we called our vet, the same one who had fixed him. She didn't seem to think it sounded serious and said she could see us at one. So we drove to the clinic to dose and I started to panic about him so we called a few vet hospitals in Keene and made an appointment for as soon as we could get him there. But we should have brought him directly to the vet. Not that it would have saved him, but maybe he would have been in less pain.
Even the vet cannot say for sure what happened. He probably had a pre-existing condition that was exasperated by the surgery and the move. He may have gotten a blood clot from the IV anesthesia and that may have travelled to his heart causing a lack of oxygen. Either way, he had heart and respiratory failure and because of the lack of oxygen, even though he was in an oxygen tank, some cell damage took place. His right arm where he got his shot was dead and limp. It was so horrible watching him suffer. Everything I read about cats and these types of symptoms on the Internet said that the survival rate was very low and upon survival of the initial episode, life expectancy is short. Had we brought him home to nurse him, he would have been in agony. Maybe if I had enough drugs to keep him medicated and happy, I'd try to hang on to him longer, but I don't.

What else is there really to say? Life is sad and mean and fucked up. It seems like there is no rhyme or reason to so many things in life. Why do bad things happen to good people? I can come up with as many theories as the next person, but nobody really knows. All I could tell him was that we loved him and if I had to die I would go the way he went. They basically OD'd him with barbiturates, which for him was likely as peaceful as a heavy, heavy heroin high for me.

It was late in the day before we finally made it home and I really want to bury him well and plant flowers where he's buried, so we decided to bury him tomorrow (or today, I guess). But I wasn't sure how the other animals would react to knowing he was there, so I left him in his little box in the trunk. I know that sounds horrible, he's not just laying there. He's in like a cat body bag (creepy) and then a box with my sweatshirt but I can't walk past the car without cringing.

Cat Dying = Sucks, Sucks, Sucks!!!!

This never-ending night is finally coming to a close and I can put my crap in my car and get ready to go. I just want to sleep through it all until it isn't sad and fucked any more. If I can't medicate myself heavily with my #1 drug of choice, I'll settle for puffing tough and sleeping the day away.