Self-indulgent whining

Haven’t felt much like updating recently. Haven’t felt much like anything, truth be told. I’ll put it down to end of summer blues. Technically it isn’t end of summer for another couple of weeks, but if the Southern Hemisphere can call September 1st the first day of spring, then I can call it the first day of autumn.

On the job front, I remain unemployed. There’s a job fair being hosted by the local state representative for my county Friday that I’ll be going to, but I don’t dare hope for much. I’ve had too many “sure things” evaporate, and the realization that I am destined to something less than mediocrity is finally forcing itself into my awareness. I haven’t even been able to get hired by any of the local bookstores or pet stores; I know they have openings because I spoke to an 18 year old kid who volunteers at our cat shelter who was bragging to me about getting hired for a pet store job that I had applied for. Getting kicked in the nonexistent metaphysical balls is as good a wake-up call as anything.

It’s been three weeks since the cortisone injection in my right wrist and being fitted for the new spica. I can’t say that the injection has done much good, although the new spica immobilizes my wrist well enough to prevent me from doing anything stupid/painful while wearing it.

Meanwhile, I’ve been having some problems with my feet off and on for the past six months. The technical term is “paresthesias”, which translates into English as weird sensations. Some people describe it as tingling or numbness, but neither term really describes the feeling. The best I can say is that it’s what white noise would feel like if it were a feeling instead of a sound. I’ve got yet another doctor, and an appointment to get some tests run tomorrow. I’ve come to the point that I’m suspecting myself of hypochondria; nobody gets this many peculiar ailments simultaneously.

No one except perhaps for Satan’s Little Fart Cloud. She’s getting doused in lime sulfur every three days now, and her coat reflects it. She feels like a scarecrow, and looks icteric. Rather than settling down after three months of confinement, she’s more agitated than ever to be out of the bathroom. Sunrise is her signal to begin pitiful mewing that quickly segues into frantic yowling at the door. About a week or so ago she began scratching at the door as well. Since The Prof is teaching ten classes this semester (to make up for me not bringing any income into the house) he’s leaving before 9:00 in the morning and returning after 9:00 at night. It’s unfair that he not get as much sleep as possible, so I’ve been getting up to quiet her as soon as I can get myself moving. My heart is breaking for her at this point – I fear she is developing an obsessive/compulsive disorder of obsessive grooming. I worry that if I can’t get her out of that quarantine soon that this behavior will become permanent; once it is firmly established it is difficult to break.