Adventures in Crazy

I’ve spent the last few weeks on the cusp of bleakness. Being depression prone, that this happens once or twice a year is something that I accept. I believe that the acceptance of my black cloud makes it more easily managed. But this particular cloud is really pissing me the fuck off. I’m waiting for it to either recede or spill over but it doesn’t seem to want to shift. I think I prefer full blown depression over this indecisive, threatening darkness in the back of my head. At least if I get a proper bout of depression, I know it’s only a matter of time before it’s over. Of course it would be preferable if it just lifted before taking hold, but at this stage, a worsening or an improvement would be welcome, just so long as this purgatory stage goes away.

It’s days like these one feels the lure of Poe, but reading Poe would be to indulge in melancholia and therefore not a wise choice. I should read something a little more cheerful, like Bram Stoker or the Necronomicon. Not the Bible though, that shit is DARK.


The only thing I can do in the mean time is take care of myself. A little more exercise and lots of healthy food and frequent reminders to keep my head in the here and now instead of scattered though the atmosphere flitting from worry to worry. The important thing is to keep on moving.

Thanks Dr. Dre, you always know just what to say.

Thanks Dr. Dre, you always know just what to say. ❤


Admitting You Have a Problem is the First Step

I love animals. I love them so much and I wish I could adopt them all. I feel compelled to pet any animal I see, but sometimes I manage to resist this compulsion, otherwise they’d never allow me to visit the zoo.  Although I did get bitten by a zebra once because I simply couldn’t help myself. But it was ok, she was really old and didn’t have many teeth left.

I have been known to cuddle wild hedgehogs, they’re not as spiky as you might think. Rats are my weakness, I can’t say no to them, so I have banned myself from pet shops because I just don’t have time to train a rat right now. I’d love to have a goat, a dog, a pig, a duck, a rabbit and anything else that I could legally keep, but I can’t, it’s just not practical. Two cats and a bird is enough for now.

Oh, look! He's smiling at me. Can I touch him?

Oh, look! He’s smiling at me. Can I touch him?

After Zakky cat died, I said “No more, I”m done, I’m going to be good and not get any more animals”. But every day, looking back at me from my computer screen, were kittens from the local SPCA Facebook page. I fell in love with them all. Especially one beautiful little boy, Tom. I couldn’t help myself, I bought him home six months ago and named him Stalin, and I love him to bits.


Stalin (formerly “Tom”) and his brother “Jerry”.

Yesterday, I fell for another beautiful cat, but I just can’t have another cat right now. I’m too busy, vet bills are expensive, my old kitty Krank deserves some peace from the exuberance of youth. I had to unfriend the SPCA. I’m sorry SPCA, but our relationship was an unhealthy one, you were an enabler. It wasn’t really your fault, you are what you are, and we must go our separate ways. Perhaps someday, we will meet again.

You’d Think a Ninja Wouldn’t Get Hurt So Much

My boss tells me it’s Karma, or possibly some kind of vehicular sentience. She thinks her 22 year old Citroen van is a “French Poodle” with overtones of Herbie. I think it’s a death trap with overtones of Christine. Several hours after I told her that her French Poodle has mange, the bastard bit me. Clearly it’s also rabid. Crushing my hand in it’s unnecessarily heavy door. So now, I have a broken finger. This job is going to slowly kill me, one tiny injury at a time.

Not the actual van, but probably runs better. Photo source:

Not the actual van, but probably runs better.
Photo source:

But because I’m a tough bitch (and because most of my co-workers are tough bitches and I don’t want to be the wimp), I went back to work on Monday as usual. In all honesty, the finger is not too bad, just annoying. Tuesday morning saw me hobbling around on sore hips and ankles, feeling much older than my 30 years. Then I noticed this unusual bruise.


Ok, so it doesn’t look that impressive in the photo, I swear it’s darker in the flesh.

I don’t know how I got it, but I was a bit excited. See that little puncture wound? That can mean only one thing: It’s a micro-chip implant because I have been secretly trained as a ruthless assassin for some super secretive government agency. I don’t know about it yet, because I have not yet been activated. I’m probably a hardcore ninja. My codename might be Mercury Absinthe or something equally cool.

Or as my Facebook friends believe, it could be that a bot-fly has turned my arm into a nursery. If it starts to wriggle, I’m just going to let the Citroen eat my whole fucking arm.