High Anxxxxietyyyyy

You can thank Mel Brooks for that title, as well as the rest of his brilliance, heh.

I can thank ______*_____ for my anxiety today. Since the pater falls almost daily now & the va has been of less-than-zero help, I've taken it upon myself to make them re-admit him to their hospital. Now, they can theoretically provide transport for him to get to the local regular hospital, but they want me (who no longer can drive) or my husband (who works from 4am to 7pm) to drive him the hour & half so they can decide if they'll keep him.

Now, I know it is Not So Wise to disparage our military, et al, but for the record? I'd like to send a big ol' Fuck You to this VA we've got here. They've been throwing pills at pater for months now, after they released him waaaay too early on, and now are just fucking with us, it appears. Oh, he's got an appointment tomorrow? Well, fuck you very much for even telling him! That goes for the other Twenty Three Goddamn Times, too.

Buncha fucking jackasses.

I just cannot fathom how they thought it was a good idea to send him here. And then decided months later to give him a wheelchair. Like, did it NOT occur to them that, if he needs a chair, maaaaaybe he shouldn't be released?

What in the actual fuck is going on with them? Really!

Obviously my hackles are up over this mess, which is why I had to take my anti-anxiety meds today. As a direct result of the VA not doing their job, pater is slowly losing his interest in life and health, which leads me to more worry and caretaking on a dangerous (physical, for me) level which then fucks up my own health, lather rinse repeat.

Fuck, man. Some days it is a struggle.

Buh

Damn depression hamsters are back. Or are they squirrels? Whatever they are, they're back with Loud Voices and I'd really prefer if they'd Fuck Right Off.

This morning at the farmers market, I got to pet an alligator and hand-feed a butterfly that was in my hand. In My HAND people. It was overwhelmingly beautiful, so of course this bitch started crying; guess I can cross "crying in public" off my list of What Not To Do In Public.

Fuck the rest of this day, though.

Well, okay; fuck the results of a fine day as seen through my damn head.

I'm off to finish Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children (Ransom Riggs), which just happens to be fantastically brilliant and utterly entrancing.

With love and squalor,
Esme

Not Remotely Sponsored, yo.

I am about to toot a Large Horn in My Honour:

Thanks to Coursera.com I am presently taking a free course all about fantasy & scifi in literature, and it is fascinating! If you're looking to broaden your mind and find new friends all over the frigging planet, head over and sign up for a course or, if you're like me, seven courses. Hehehe.

Namaste, bitches.

Second Chances

The hub & I are sitting in the car waiting for a Certain Bridal Chain to open so I can be fitted for a bridesmaid dress. My last experience at said chain was filled with judgement, rudeness and anger, and that was before I found myself on the four wheels of fury.

Let's see how today will go:

It's not looking good; the manager has given me no less than five pissy looks and we're not even in the door yet.

Huzzah! The young lady who took care of me was excellent, sweet and totally accommodating. Success!

Now I just have to dress like a girl in a few months. That's the real issue, hehe.

No Rest, Too Wicked

I'd like the title to be more true than it really is; I've not been wicked, nor even just a smidgen ornery. I've been in bed, mostly; resting, resting and of course, resting. So can anyone explain how I woke up from several hours' sleep with a busted ankle?
No?
Me neither, but I wish I'd been there for it, must have been a good time.

My Rights, Your Rights

My news aggregates lately have been FILLED with bits and bobs regarding Women's Rights, and the Christian/Republican/WhatTheWhats trying to destroy them.

My question is not why, nor how, but what would possess this rather large group of idiots to try this exercise in stupid in the first place? Do they not know that they came from a vagina?! How the...what the...stupid. So much! However, would this mean that in the near future I could lobby for legislation to have all men keep their errant dicks on a leash?

I mean, really now. This vagina in my lap (so to speak) is mine, and nothing written on paper or spit from the mouths of knaves will change that Absolute Fact.

Get out of my vag, guys. It's reserved for my husband, my tampons and any small humans that may have been grown there by me. 

Oh Man

Today was another episode of Cap'n Xanax here, which entails chasing down my post-dental visit man so he doesn't wibbly-wobbly his way to a concussion. It is exhausting, but it's also quite hilarious. He knows both of those facts, so I'm not slandering his character. Just giggling quietly to myself now that he's asleep, dreaming of kitteny mountains.

Hehehe.

Guh

Too much pain, too much rain.

I've got a hundred thousand things to write but the fibro is beating me down.

Pater may be returning to hospital, he's in shitty shape and doing nothing about it. Fucking lazy. Bah.