The September Slack-Off

Monday, September 24, 2012

I've come back to this post at least three times and the only thing that has not changed is the name of the post. So I'm just going to plow through and write something.

Unfortunately, it's not such a fun thing. Sorry.

I haven't felt like myself for the last few days. I don't know what is wrong with me. There was a slight adjustment with my meds, but nothing major. I thought I was going to feel better. I finally felt 100% well on Saturday. After nearly three weeks of being sick, I was thrilled not to wake up with a headache and not be on serious nausea and headache medications. (Did I tell you I went to the ER another time since my last post? Yeah... that sick.) So I thought that would boost my mood, but instead I feel weird and gross and not like myself at all.

It's been several months since a serious Bipolar problem, but just when I think things are working out... then something like this happens. I end up crying on my bed for 30 minutes, huddled under a blanket. I hate when that happens. I feel like such a loser.

I can't be a loser! I have friends. I graduated from high school in the top ten percent with a 4.3 gpa. I have a husband. I have the greatest family who ever lived. And then the other part of my brain goes... well what have you done in the last 7 months? You don't have a job, do I even need to mention college?, you don't have projects, you rarely seem excited to do anything, and the house could be much cleaner.

Ugh. Cleaning.

Trying to get that other part of my brain to shut up is rather difficult. Always gets the last word in, no matter what.

I'm so caught up in how crappy I'm feeling that I can't seem to snap out of it. I can't shake this feeling that I'm doing something wrong. I just have no idea what it is that is wrong. The results are just coming out skewed. It's even hard to push these stupid thoughts aside and tell myself that I'm just feeling a little off after being sick for so long and I just need to get back into the groove of things, find my rhythm once more.

After I push through, I get 16 days in Italy with my husband for our honeymoon. 16 glorious fall days in Rome, Florence, and Venice. We'll stay in apartments, visit everything that is beautiful, wander around aimlessly, eat food without having a clue what it is, ride trains, and celebrate our wedding and our marriage thus far. And eat gelato every. single. day. Can't forget that last part.

It will be awesome. And I am determined, some how, some way, to be awesome for Thomas and that trip. Italy is too expensive to be in a foul mood whist I am there!

Okay. I'll try again tomorrow.

Otto's Story

Sunday, September 9, 2012

This is Otto:


He's pretty friggin' cute.


(It's hard taking pictures of black dogs with a flash... especially when they are three months old and have no attention span. Still trying to get my bearings with the new camera.)

Otto came into our lives a few weeks ago.

Thomas went to pick up Moby at PetSmart after a grooming. We mostly take him here because he hates getting his nails trimmed. After one ill-fated trimming I did, it's worth $24.99 to have someone else do it (and wash, brush, clean his anal glands, clean his ears, file his paws, and dry him). So Thomas picked up Moby and as they were walking by the in-house vet, the nurses said, hey! We have this little puppy that looks exactly like your dog.

I'm in the shower when Thomas burst in, flinging open the curtain, and announces that he wants a dog. Kind of. He explains that Otto was left at the vet, abandoned there with terrible stomach worms. That was weeks ago. The owners never came to pick him up and haven't returned any calls. He was left with the name Blackie (seriously? how creative.) and everyone at the office has pretty much fallen in love with this little one. The stomach worms are gone. If someone doesn't claim him, they have to take him to the Dorchester SPCA (where we got Moby). Sad.

The whole time Thomas is telling me, his eyes are going "Can we keep him? Can we keep him please?"

"So you want a puppy?"

"Will you at least go see him tomorrow? He looks just like what Moby would have looked like as a puppy."

"Okay."

So off we went. This little, black pup that was all ears, fur, tail, and GIANT webbed paws careened around the corner. And my heart melted. I was gone. He was so cute. He leapt into my arms and I just smiled and loved him.

I looked at Thomas and he looked at me, all gooney eyed. He said that Moby and "Blackie" just hit it off immediately. Both doing that weird talking thing Moby does this yelping, whistling, and... talking.

After reluctantly returning him, Thomas and I set off towards home. And we talked about "Blackie."

First off, the name had to go. We always joked that if we ever found a second black German Shorthaired Pointer, we'd name him Otto. A nice German name. :) We talked about finances, what we'd need to buy, cost of keeping a dog, the fact that we knew nothing about him. But then we talked about his situation. We didn't want him going to the shelter. We got Moby there. As awesome as places like the SPCA are, they don't need another dog. And we could love him, train him, and take care of him forever. We realize that any hesitation we had could be taken care of. We could do this.

So we called the vet and said if they didn't find the owners, we would take him.

After 3 weeks of phone calls and waiting for a response from the previous owners, Tuesday we finally got the call that it had been the appropriate amount of time (they didn't want to get into a lawsuit of giving away someone else's dog) and all attempt to contact the owners had failed. And so Otto came into our lives.


We are so lucky. Otto loves being here and fits in well. He plays a lot with big bro Moby (who adores goofing off with him too).


This is mostly what our day looks like. Otto realizes that the only way to attain the high ground on Moby is to stand on the edge of the couch and leap onto Moby's back. See below. Thankfully that kind of workout tuckers them out well and they sleep soundly. They can be crazy, but crate training is wonderful and a huge help to everyone. They sleep and I don't have to referee dog fighting.


And yes, we're stopping at two.

From my sick bed (or couch)

Friday, September 7, 2012

Sorry I took a week long vacation! Except it wasn't really a vacation. I've been sick. Like nasty sick. Fever, nausea, vomiting, chills, sore throat, sick mouth (you know, tongue feels gross, cuts and scrapes, icy bacteria you can't get rid of, and too much spit), headache, dizzy, haven't eaten in 5 days, blah blah blah, gross gross gross. You get the picture.

I went to the hospital this morning and had to get a spinal tap at 7:30 am. What a way to start the day! I would like to state for the record that I DID NOT cry. Or wince. Or dig my fingernails into my arm. I was a champ. Whoo!! My doctor and nurses were all super impressed. They were all guys, joking around and laughing, and being super nice about everything. But I do not have meningitis (thank goodness) even though I have the worst stiff neck ever and a pounding headache. Everything came back clear except for some minor infections and dehydration.

In addition to winning Best Spinal Tap Ever, I also beat my own blood pressure score. 97/57. I know this sounds really strange, but I am strange and you should know that. You read this blog. I've always had wonderful blood pressure. They always have me tested twice at my doctor- as if I could somehow cheat the system. The nurse told me I was going to live forever with that blood pressure.

I don't really want to live forever.

Heaven sounds nice.

But a long healthy life on earth? That I will take.

Soon I will tell you about our new puppy! His name is Otto and he's friggin' adorable. Right now he's in his crate (and so is Moby) and he is barking incessantly. Since we are crate training him, I am ignoring him. It's hard. He has a really loud bark. Moby keeps sighing and looking at me in a way that says "why did you bring this thing into my house??" I keep looking back at him saying "this is your pet!" And it's true. Moby thinks Otto is his plaything. They love playing with each other. The reason that they're both penned up now is because they go insane when they are out. Luckily this tires them out and they sleep really well.

You'll get Otto's story in the next post, where I will hopefully have some pictures and how to make your own ridiculously easy sock toy.
 
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