I think little Digit’s paw is broken. Not badly, because I can touch it and move it a little. There aren’t any abrasions, it’s not hot, no cuts. He just holds it up when he’s sitting and limps when he’s walking and every once in a while, when he forgets about it, he puts weight on it and falls THUMP over. Of course, this happened Friday night, so I’ve been waiting to see if he’d heal over the weekend. Don’t think I’m a bad mama, please. This boy has been known to heal in twenty-four hours after gonzilla fights, after he drags himself in, barely able to stand, grumbling things about card-parties and fast kittens and bad catnip. He pops up after a day’s sleep, good as gold. But it’s Monday, and while he doesn’t seem in pain, he’s still not using the limb. I’ve asked my friend Nichole to cover my shift this afternoon so we can go see The Man Cats Hate. Poor baby.
And Digit’s mama has a leftover headache. Yep, I’ve figured out the damn trigger for these migraines. I thought it was a combo of PMS and the weather. No, it’s just the weather, damn it. Following in my mother’s migrained footsteps. A prolonged low pressure before a storm starts the sinus headache, which then moves into migraine territory. Yesterday at work I had all the accompanying symptoms, too, nausea and vertigo and dizziness. Bleach. Feeling better now (and the Imitrex did really help), but I still can’t touch the right side of my face – too sensitive. (Oh, and Imitrex is FUN to take. Doesn’t make me sleepy or unable to focus at work (although I wouldn’t take it if I had to be on the police radio). But it makes me sharply giddy. A focused, intense grin kind of feeling. Odd.) Daisy-Winifred, you predicted this, didn’t you?
Been up for the last two hours, two hours way too early. Heavy rain pouring down, lying in bed thinking about moving. Okay, now I’m getting a little stressed. And it’s mostly about the cats. I need to ship them out (hopefully to the little mama’s house – who is feeling MUCH better for those of you keeping score) and do the move without indulging in this “got a month to do it” crap. Then I can bring them back and hopefully, with a six-hundred mile drive between their old home and their new home half a mile away, they’ll lose their way and won’t think to go looking for the auld sod. And I’d like the apartment to be mostly ready by the time I get them back. Less stress on them AND me.
The problem is this (and it ain’t really a problem in my book, more of something I have to work with): I’m going to ask a friend for his truck and his help to move the four heavy things I own. Another friend is helping me paint. The rest of it I want to do by myself. I’m not being a martyr here. I’m being a helpless control freak, that’s all. I want to know where everything is in my new home. I want things to pass through my hands only. I don’t want anyone else to see the dust behind my bookshelves at my present home. You know? So I have to work quickly, accurately, and with some semblance of balance or humor, or it’ll be a head against the boxes sobbing moment. But I mean it. ALONE. That’s how I want to do it. Wish me luck and godspeed – I may not be posting a lot the next week or so…..
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