This has been a shit week. My dog has had aspiration pneumonia which essentially means he has a bacterial infection in his lungs. I wish it meant that he had big hopes and dreams instead. His weekly trips to the vet are costing me a lot of money, lack of sleep and a general sense of anxiety about him dying on me. I don’t even want to leave the house without him so I got him a counterfeit service dog uniform and he has that servicy look to him anyway, so it works. The only time he almost blew our cover is when we entered the grocery store and he made a mad dash to the rotisserie chickens. I told him this was extremely unprofessional. I even have security cameras in my house not because I am worried about a burglar but because I need to spy on my dog. It’s sick, I know.
In one week it will also be the 3rd anniversary of the last day I saw my husband alive. I still get angry at him whenever I have to handle domestic shit on my own, and also when I go to the store and can’t reach anything on the top shelf. I have an entirely separate blog devoted to widowhood but the posts can also be found under my archives starting with August 2014. He’s the reason I started blogging in the first place and I must admit it did help me navigate through some stuff but eventually I had to move on, hence this site. Nobody realizes how great it is to have someone to bitch about your day with over some chips and salsa. I hate eating out by myself but I’m learning how to be comfortable at the diner alone, as long as I sit at the bar with all the other lonely souls. We all sit there in silence with our heads pointed down at our phones, pretending like we’re in high social demand.
I’ve also been struggling to write lately, and this is extremely frustrating because it’s like being suffocated. I keep thinking maybe I’m trying too hard, or maybe I’m just not drinking enough. The problem with drunk writing is that it sounds so prolific and amazing until I read it the next day when I am sober, and then I just sound like a 15-year old who needs a hug and a high school guidance counselor.
I’ve also stopped taking my Celexa because it wasn’t working, or at least not like I wanted it to. It made me feel like I was on life support and everything was flat, so I decided being really depressed and suicidal actually felt better, because at least I felt something. It also made me gain weight and I was the fat kid all throughout middle school so fuck doing that again!
Also, ignore my typos since I already took my Xanax and everything is slowing down and becoming warmer. It’s pathetic when the most exciting part of my day is when the clock hits 9pm and it seems okay to take xanax and crawl into bed. I just want to sleep through it because being awake is exhausting. Too many thoughts ricocheting through my head.
I’m pretty sure this jerk set the bar pretty damn high so I’m expecting I’ll grow old alone. Thanks a lot Jason. His dog is dead now too. Deserters! Both of them.