Tula

 This is going to be yet another wine assisted, stream-of-consciousness post.

Yes, I drink.  A lot more than I used to.  Is it a lot?  Not really.  I had a brandy this afternoon (reason soon to follow) and a glass of wine with dinner.  But I'm a lightweight.

And  just got derailed because Amanda (respiratory therapist) called to vent about the zombie apocalypse that is Omicron.  Most of her fellow nurses have Covid now.

So - today.  Got up, went to work at the museum.  Always enjoyable, keeps me connected and engaged.  I hate that we're having to mask up again, but that's Omicron.  After my shift I walked around with an owl some, well, because I can.  (I realize that I haven't done many pictures lately - here's Wilbur, the great horned owl.  And no, I'm not making kissy faces - we're hooting at each other.

Came home, had some lunch, checked my FaceBook (because addicted), then took Tula to the vet to confirm that yes, indeed, that lump on the side of her jaw is a bone tumor so it's only a matter of time before I lose her (as long as she has attitude, can eat, and isn't in pain, she'll stay with me.  Lose any of that, and it's farewell, Tula)

Hence, the coming home to a glass of brandy.  Because it feels like I can't can't catch a fricken' breath.  I just lost 3 of my peacocks (and a goldfish) in the last two months.  I had promised Bob that I would be able to take care of things - but since I've lost him, I've also lost a friend, three cats (and almost lost Hamish), two chickens, three peacocks, and the goldfish.  No, I wasn't bonded to the goldfish.  But it was one of Bob's rescue goldfish - he felt sorry for the feeder goldfish at the pet store and rescued some and brought them home.  So it hurt to lose yet another bit of Bob.

And today was hurting anyway.  I've said before that you don't move forward in time - you spiral like a vulture riding a thermal, looking down were you were in previous years in that part of the spiral.  And two years ago today, Bob began the chemo that killed his bone marrow and eventually killed him.

And now I'm going to lose another cat.

I do try.  I really do.  People talking to me wouldn't know that there is anything wrong.  I act upbeat, hoping I can fool myself into feeling that way. But I'm getting really really tired of walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  I'm tired of pushing that big rock up the hill, only to have it roll down and squash me again.

Well, this post is a downer.  But that's why I'm trying to write again, to do the brain dump, to try to get this crap out of me.  To try to drag myself up by my own bootstraps.  We'll see.