(no subject)

Dubiety gone as of ~2:45 PM. I am sick of Anger Stage Of Grief being my base state of existence. My consciousness will disintegrate and all that will be left is the pattern of electrical impulses responsible for bitching about Bujold on a blog. For visual metaphor imagine melted robot that’s just a hand clattering across a keyboard and a single narrowed eye.

(Belated Tumblr crosspost, he had a saddle thrombus yesterday evening.)

(no subject)

In between freakouts I attempted to play Brain Problem Detective on my family by interrogating Mom about my and my siblings' childhood illnesses. We all had cold/flu, a bunch of throat infections, and at least one ear infection, but there's no more-dramatic common denominator. thegeekgene and I both had mild pneumonia at one point, which is the sickest I remember being when I was little, but elongated_tito escaped, and she had problems the earliest. So, no tidily specific viral affliction which we can blame for adult depression.

Apparently 1) I had a very bad case of roseola as a toddler, and 2) I had repeated episodes of night terrors that Mom couldn't wake me from, where I screamed and thrashed around before eventually settling down without waking up entirely. She doesn't remember the timeline, but thinks that this may have come after the roseola. I am a genuine medical professional and I have decided to blame all my neuro problems on this case of roseola.

(no subject)

I still owe people messages from last time I said "I feel shitty and am being uncommunicative," but, yeah. Repeat sentiment.

Thank you to people who said stuff about Dubiety.

My cat Nixon died in 2012.

I was cleaning the cat carrier just now and noticed the tag on it, which said "Nixon [Mylastname]." I ripped it off and wadded it up without thinking about it. I am fucked up like some kind of an Edna St. Vincent Millay which is specifically preoccupied with the mortality of badly-behaved cats.

I was looking for something in the medicine cabinet earlier, found some old meds of Papaw's, and left them in place as always, because "he might need them," then felt distantly shitty, then left them alone.

I need to try and be Roxy Lalonde instead of Rose Lalonde for once and work on the Facing And Accepting Death thing. I just need to try and not do it up too Roxy and drink this bottle of fruit wine Mom got me in one evening or something.

Unironic statement:

Good job declining to cop out on this one, Hussie. I was worried you didn't have it in you.