So i bought a guinea pig at petco yesturday. She is adorable, super small and young and female, all things i wanted in a guinea pig. I know you aren't supposed to buy animals at pet stores, but it's not her fault if she was born and raised in unsanitary conditions, all animals still deserve a good home i say. Petco gives me a 15 day guarantee and says that if anything is to arise to bring her to their preferred vet, suffield veterninary hospital. Or i could bring her back to petco, sell her back, and once shes better or whatever, i can buy her back. Well i bring my tiny little bundle of joy home and have her on my chest and already she seems to like me. She snuggling and attempting to make little guinea pig sounds (she cant even peep yet, its adorable), and then she sneezes. At first its adorable, this tiny little rodent with a tiny sneeze...but then she sneezes again...and again...and i grow concerned. So i pulled my guinea pig books off the shelf and went online and did a little research. I guess, petstore guinea pigs are prone to have URI's (upper respitory infections). Luckily, my sweet little guinea pig named Pikachu, is only sneezing and possibley wheezing, its really hard to tell. She's perky, drinking water, eating and pooping up a storm but i figured since petco would foot the bill, i should call the vet in the morning...

Ok...so i call. After being on hold for about 10 minutes they tell me their exotics doctor won't be in until monday. Now what the fuck? It's a friday, which means this weekend a lot of vets will be closed all weekend. Why did you give the exotics doctor the day off? So i could have called petco and i could have brought my adorable guinea pig back but i did some further reading. By bringing Pikachu back, i have to sell her back making petco the owner of this guinea pig. They can do whatever the hell they want with her. They could say, "Eh, fuck it, our corporation doesnt want to pay to give this animal antibiotics, put it to sleep or stick it back in the cage and hope someone else buys it and lie to the girl who bought it." Many people who sell their guinea pigs back to petco, never get them back. I'm not doing that. I'm already in love. I know URI's in guinea pigs are a really big deal, but right now it seems like a case of the sniffles, so im going to keep my eye on her. I notice she does sneeze more when i take her out of the cage so for all i know she could be allergic to my purfume or the bedding i used is new to her and when she runs around the cage when i try to pick her up, she's kicking up dust.

the thing is, im not really mad at petco so much as suffield vet. i fucking hate that vet. I adopted my guinea pig, Pokey, from petco, and she was one the best pets i have ever had, and she lived to be six years old. When she started getting sick and stopped eating i was debating whether i should put her down, so i called suffield and made the appointment. But unlike with cats and dogs, i was not allowed in the room when they euthanized her. I would just drop her off and never see her again. This made me very uncomfortable. Pokey would have been alone and scared. Then what, they just chuck her in the waste basket, wash their hands and go home? i couldnt even take her home to bury her in my backyard? But i made the appointment and when the time came, pokey ate a cucumber, i think it was a sign that she really didnt want to go like that. So i called and i cancelled. Pokey died in my arms after the disney movie G-force ended. well a week later i get a $15 bill from suffield vet for a guinea pig euthanization. I'm fucking livid, i call them half screaming in anger, half crying. They tell me "Oh the vet signed off on it." This wasn't about the money, it was only fifteen dollars, this was principle. They put me on hold for 15 minutes and come back to say, "Oh, we'll call you back and see what we figure out." I never heard back from them, i never even got a fucking apology. Losing a pet is very difficult, one the worst things i feel a person to go through, and i was handling my pets death pretty well and moving on with my life until i opened up that letter...

anyway, im spending my day with Pikachu, making sure she's nice and comfy and warm. And also washing my quilt because she peed on it a bunch. My cat is super jealous too. I won't allow him in the room because he's a little asshole and i really can't trust him, but i know he knows some other animal is upstairs getting all mommys attention, so i have to spend some time making sure he's not all upset either...man...if it's this hard with pets, cant wait to start having kids...

for probably about two years i have been attempting to make myself a morning person. in bed at the very least by 11, up at the latest 9 o'clock. then i can work and have oh so much time to everything i want. guess what, it's not working. I used to never sleep, i had soo much trouble for the first 20 years of my life sleeping and one day i didnt (thank you melatonin). well guess what, after two years of getting that solid nine hours of rest my body suposidly requires, im always fucking tired! and depressed! and i get nothing done because i work, come home, have no energy and do nothing. Also, my creativity is freaking gone. The first few days of my vacation, i was attempting to keep myself on my normal routine, thinking because i didn't have to work i could do tons of shit during the day. Well...it didnt work out that way. So today, i slept until twelve, something that would have been normal for me at the age of nineteen but not 23. And guess what, my creativity burst, energy and desire to clean and decorate my house sprung up at about 11 o'clock at night. I decorated the downstairs of my house, actually folded my laundry instead of leaving it in the clean clothes laundry basket, and my office upstairs which has been packed in boxes for fucking months, yeah, it all came together in about an hour.

and i got to thinking...as a teenager, i remember that around 12 o'clock every night after adult swim would switch over the anime is when i would start writing poetry, rearranging my room, actually fucking cleaning my room, getting homework done, writing stories and even novels, drawing, painting, sex, hell i would do Billy Banks Ty boe at 3 in the morning. My creativity, energy and basically any other happiness is at it's peak between the hours of 11pm-4am. And with my work schedule, i cannot be up during those hours. Unless i decide in the near future to give up sleeping or maybe even my job...i dont know if I'll ever be happy...or get anything done for that matter...

I guess it's true, you really just cannot turn a night owl into a morning person no matter how hard you try...

i used to love my job. (no really two former cvs employees that follow this thing, i am being honest!! no sarcasm at all!) Ok i didnt love my job at first, i was too drunk to love my job, but once i actually made a commitment to the place and knew how to do stuff, i loved my job. I believe it was around the time that Greg was a pharmacist there, and people started coming to me to solve problems instead of the other way around, and i was actually good at something that i loved my job. Then it went from love to, "I like my job". there were days i REALLY did not want to be there but days it was ok. Then it went to more days where i REALLY dont want to be here and i'm tolerating being here. Now, after five years. Every single day i walk into that place is a day i REALLY REALLY REALLLLLY don't want to be there. we have no staff, at all. everyone has a bad attitude. the management is incompetent. I hate my schedule. For instance, today i worked open until noon. Came home and now i have to go back and work 3-close. Really? and you know what, at the moment only 2 employees and 2 pharmacists are on. So do you know what i am walking into when i go back? Disaster. I dont mean to offend anyone, but i can't understand why no one else can manage the clear the Que. I dont know why but if i'm at drop off than the production que is a mess. If i am at production, than the drop off window is flooded with scripts. Why can't people multi-task? why cant people get shit done and have some sense of urgency to get said shit done? It has gotten so bad, i am having panic attacks over just having to walk into that place. It has gotten so bad that even if i have a couple days off from that place i cannot enjoy them because seriously, all i can think about is the fact that i have to go back. It's ruining my life and now I am stuck!! Mark and I are engaged and are planning on getting married september 2013. I just had my five year anniversary with cvs which means i get 3 weeks vacation this year. I need that three weeks vacation. I need it so i can get married and go on a honeymoon. I'm fucked...

realizations through packing

I've suspected it all along but this weekend has further proved many facts to me. Say, i had someone pack up all my possessions for me, i believe they would suspect somehow a couple children won the lottery and managed to buy a house. It is fucking ridiculous the amount of shit Mark and I own and also, it is laughable how childish most of our shit is. Here are a few examples of random shit i have discovered through packing this weekend.

• We own SOOO much star wars shit, it is not even funny. I don't think we have a single box packed that that does not have some form of star wars related memorbelia in it. Yet shockingly, we do not own even one of the star wars movies on vhs, dvd, or otherwise. 
• I own at least, and i am not exagerating here, 100 pairs of shoes. Granted, my aunt is a shoe fanatic and when she went through her closet a few months ago i must have aquired at least, 30 pairs of shoes. Yet somehow, i generally wear about 4 pairs of these shoes...tops. 
• Our lives must look as though they are completly run by video games. We have a nintendo wii, an xbox 360, a playstation II, an original playstatin, a sega genesis, a sega dreamcast (!), The original nintendo, nintendo 64, every other nintendo known to man (super nintendo, original gameboy, gameboy color, basically every gameboy known to man at least twice over). The only game systems i can think of that we don't own are playstation 3 and atari)
• i own waaaaay too many stuffed animals than a 23 year old should own. I have at the very least, 7, count that again, 7 bags stuffed to brim with stuffed animals. And i have not thrown a single one that i have encountered away. This proves that i get sent to the hospital way too much. for instance, when i had my galbladder out in december, i recieved, i believe, 6 stuffed animals while in the hospital. Two days later was christmas, i think that christmas i recieved, about 6 more. 
• My parents should never have found out i enjoy Hello kitty. I found at least 10 small hello kitty plush stuffed animals. they also purchased me a hello kitty toaster and alarm clock. This does not count pocket mirrors, lip glosses, assorted tiny action figures and over absolutly ridiculous etc. items with that fucking cat with a bow. 
• For some reason we have like 20 sets of salt and pepper shakers. none are serious. One is penguins that wind up and slide across the table, tinkerbell, and my favorite, giraffes. 
• I have taken this animal print fade waaaay too far. Blankets, figurines, expensive candle holders, my clothes, shoes, pillows, (various) bags including but not limited to, backpacks, pocket books, wallets, hats, pj pants, fucking, anything you can think of.
• we have too many guitars for a family of two, where only one knows how to actually play the fucking instrument. also, amplifiers, guitars and equipment GET IN THE FUCKING WAY when packing, especially when you dont have a moving truck.
• neither of us can ever throw ANYTHING away. I stumbled apon random legos that mark made me keep. mark stumbled upon random slips of paper with just a few lines written on them i made him keep. 
• My cat refuses to cooperate when packing. He has one toy he loves and has had since he was 4 months old, this tiny mouse we affectionatly names "house mouse" a threw most of his toys into a box and went along packing, a few hours later, came back to the box to find the only toy missing was house mouse. This happened at least two more times before i threw the lid on the box and took it away.
• i have bought/recieved as gifts waaaay too much stuff from partylite. And this makes packing very difficult because almost everything is fragile. 
• i have packed at least 20 garbage bags of clothes and this is not all of them, i have tons in the wash or about to be washed. but how, may i ask you, is it that i only wear about the same 7 tshirts and like 3 pairs of the same pants? 
• I found at least 30 bottles of perfume, but i only wear one
• why do i have paychecks from cvs that i got from my first two weeks of working there?
• how do we have four boxes of shot glasses but i quit drinking?

more to come when the UNpacking begins...

I do a lot of reading. This a recent thing, like maybe the past year or two. I used to read maybe 3-4 books a year. Thats about how many i read a week now. sure, I start books and never finish, them as many people do, either because of work or i lose interest or simply forget. Until tonight there was only one book i couldn't finish because it deeply, deeply disturbed me. The book was, "Johnny got his gun". I started it because i love history and war movies and all that shit. Let me describe to you why i could not finish this book. He gets wounded in the war. He is bandaged up all over, stuck in a bed. Somethings wrong with his ears, he can't hear. Something is wrong with his eyes, he can't see. And worst of all, something is wrong with his voice, he cannot speak. He is lying in a bed completly and utterly imobolized, unable to scream or hear or anything. At one point a rat climbs into his hospital bed and begins to chew on him, he can't move to stop it. He can't scream to tell someone its happening. He just has to lay there. Maybe the writing was so great but i actually felt it. I was reading and i couldn't sit still. I felt like i was having a panic attack, my breathing sped up, i felt physically ill, restricted. I threw the book down and actually went for a run. Yes, a run, i do not run. But i had to, i literally felt as if i couldn't move, i couldn't breathe...i think i may have even screamed into my pillow just be sure i had a voice. I never picked up the book again, it affected me that much.

Tonight after finishing Valley of the dolls (a good book) i started "The jungle" by Upton sinclair. I downloaded a ton of free classics on my kindle determined to read them. I started the book, kind of boring and then they get to Chicagos meat packing district. They take a tour of the butchery, for fun i might add, and in great detail describe how they killed the animals, mercilessly and in great numbers. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I am sick to my stomach right now. I am considering running to the bathroom to throw up the shake and bake chicken dinner i ate tonight. I can literally still feel it in my stomach. I love animals, i really do and have often said that i don't know how i am not a vegetarian, mostly because it's a huge inconvinence...but as i sit here tonight...i'm thinking about what i'm going to eat tomorrow and as of now it's just peanut butter and jelly. See...this is why i never watch those peeta videos. Goddamnit, i am over thinking everything. I am an athiest, i do not believe in a heaven or a hell and even if i did, they don't believe in animals going to heaven. SO what, these creatures are put on earth for us to harvest and eat? And if so...then why do they have to feel pain and emotions? I'm overanalyzing...this is going to be a long night...

I was working today when my mom, grandma and ashley came into the pharmacy. Earlier this week my mom was faced with an issue. They just sold their house and were supposed to be moving into my dads cousins apartment because she could no longer afford it. Last minute, she finds a job and says she is staying. My parents closing date is like, next monday. So suddenly, they are homeless and fucked over. They look around and find an apartment but they can't move in until like august first, which means boarding with family until then, which sucks. The downside of all of this? the apartment doesn't allow cats. My parents have two cats, each weighing in at a whoping 20 pounds each. They have to live in my parents bedroom because their other cat is an evil territorial bitch. Their bedroom smells like the inside of dumpster. When these cats take a shit, you wake up gagging, it's literally disgusting. They have to clean the litter box like 3 times a day and it still smells.

i get a phone call from my mom and she asks me when my closing date. "August 1st" and she asks me if i would be able to take the cats. I didn't know what to say. I kept changing the subject and just said, "I'll talk to mark about it." Well i talked to Mark and got an immediate know. Now i dont know if this makes me a terrible person, but i was semi relieved. I had no idea where we would put these things. And we have plans to get a dog when we move out and I'm also going to have office guinea pigs. Count that, if i took these cats that would be six pets. Six mouths to feed and pet and take care of. Flash back to today, i still haven't talked to my mom. And there her and company are standing at the register. And she asks me, "So did you talk to him?" and she says it in that cautious, i already know what your going to say voice so i find it will be easy to break it to her, at least, that's the impression she gave me. Her demeanor changes immediatly, "He's a fucking selfish asshole, I'm sorry but he is."  I say something around the lines of i can try a little harder but it's a lot of responsibility and we just can't do it. My grandma backs up and my mom throws her hand in my face and says, "I can't even look at you right now," and storms out of the pharmacy. Flash to me running the bathroom and throwing up my lunch because I am so anxious and feel so guilty? but why do i feel so guilty? I call my dad, thinking he might side with me. My mom had called him first.
"I'm not too happy with mom right now" i tell him
"Well she's not too happy with you."

A semi shouting match at drop off ensues as I'm telling him reasons why we can't keep them and he's telling me i have to. Then he says he was planning on paying my car loan and credit card off once they sold the house, he said my late payments are dragging down his credit score. He told me to bribe mark and say that he'll do that if we take the cats. I say I'll try, fighting back tears and hang up. I just felt bombarded. Anytime i'm around anyone, they just always have someway of telling me absolutly everything i'm doing wrong with my life. Everything i do is wrong. Everything i say is wrong. every decision i make is wrong. I guess i'm just a selfish peice of shit according to everyone. Today at work was just one of those days where i felt even more like shit when i left because i couldn't get anything done. I was so anxious, so upset, so sick to my stomach, i couldnt bring myself to pick up the phone or count a fucking prescription. i felt useless.

Well i come home and talk to mark, leaving out how rude my mom was to me, and brought up the bribe. He still said no. he said "let them blame me I dont care, i don't want them. And they guilted you so bad that your sitting here trying so hard to convince me to let you take them in even though i know you don't want them. They asked you a favor, you can deny a favor. dont let them make you feel bad about it."

he also brought up a major concern i have been having...they really haven't been treating me that great lately. I've been having these nightmares lately, not like snakes or people dying nightmares, emotional, anxiety ridden nightmares. In these dreams i am hopeless, only conscious of a bottle of xanax in my pocket. I can never get out of situations, i'm crazy, people treat me weird, i am either about to be committed to a mental hospital or i jsut got out of one. I am a nusance because my family seems to have to care for me in these dreams. My mom is unemotional towards my condition. She's always there but completly calm and cool when shit starts to fall apart. It just reminds me of everytime i try to talk to her, she has depression too, she knows what it's like and whenever i try to talk to her about it she changes the subject or says, "you have to snap out of it." and being one the only people i have in my life, it's just really difficult not being able to talk to her about it. And in these dreams, I'm always just a disapointment to my dad. He won't talk to me, even when i'm screaming bloody murder at him, he doesn't even acknowledge that i exist. I've been wondering the past few weeks what that meant until i called him this afternoon and got no reassurance from him, just negativity. Like it is true. I am just a disapointment.

I feel so helpless. It wasn't until last night that i brought the dreams up to mark. He said the dreams remind him of when i drink too much, especially the last few times. He brought up the near overdose in february and how they had me on the stretcher and i lay there screaming that i wanted it to stop. I was terrified and had forgotten completly how i had gotten there. I just wanted it all to just go away, be undone, and have mark take me home and go to bed and have things be back to they way they were. I realized these nightmares started after my last drinking excusion, i lost hope after that, i lost everything. i lost all control of my life, i became numb, i gave up.

I second guess everything. Everything that happens to me causes an upsurge of these horrific thoughts, everything feels broken, i can't fix anything. There are flaws in every part of my life, no matter what i do or what i don't do. I have sat back everything night, reconsidering every relationship i have and whether i want to continue that relationship. My relationship with my family has become selfdestructive. All we do is drink together. I mean for god sake, i went to my moms house last saturday at 7:30 at night, she had to be in bed by 9. She offered me a twisted tea in the matter of 10 minutes of being there. she even went as far as to count how many she had (6) and wondered if it was enough. An hour and a half of drinking and your concerned there won't be enough? are you serious? And why start drinking an hour and a half before bed? Can you really not talk to me unless you have a buzz on? And hello, your daughter has a serious drinking problem!!!

I know they love me. i know some of my friends still love me. I know people care...but do they care enough? do i care enough? I just no longer see the point in trying. Everyone an asshole. I used to love meeting new people. i used to love going out and talking, but you know what, over the past few years, everyone i talk to doesn't seem to care what i say. no one hears me. no one is real anymore and i dont know if i've changed or they have...

hibernation mode

It's official, i am going into hibernation mode. I am not going to make attempts to reach out anymore. I not going to attempt to be friends with anyone. I will not find a house because the one we found was perfect and FHA took it away from us. i will not go out with anyone because then I'll drink and be an asshole. i will not got out and find another job even though i'm slowly beginning to hate the one i have. I will not work out. I will eat fast food. I don't care. I have reached my ultimate point of apathy and numbness, or at least I'm almost there...

I will not go over the events of this week because I still don't even want to think about it or what may have happened. I am leaving myself in the dark and will eventually wash the towels i vomited all over on saturday night. I will continue to walk into work with my shitty mood and allow it to spread to all my fellow employees because i have watched it happen all week long. At this point, and from clariffication from other people, including those closest to me, i am not worth it. And I can just tell. Like how two weeks ago, when my mom let me drink with her, even though she knows i have a problem, my brother getting in a fight with me, and my father of all people lets me drive home shit faced out of my head. Mark says they love me but they have shitty judgement. I say, i am the one who made them that way. I obviously have no regard for myself or others and dont give a shit, and say i'm going to do things, or not do things in this case, and do them anyway. Oh this time will be different i always say, but it never is. I never learn. And it's not just the alcohol thats the problem, its me as an entire person. Mark made that perfectly clear. My parents do. His family does. My so called friends have. I dont change, i never learn, and apparently I'm fucking lazy. So fuck it. I'll work. I'll come home. If i ever get a house, which feels like never, i'll clean it. But you know what, after that I'm taking my xanax, im eating whatever the fuck i want and i am passing out. I give up. I dont care. or actually i do care about everyone else, and thats why im still fucking here...

I have never felt so shitty in my entire life. I could have had a nice, ideal weekend, but i go and ruin it. I ruin everything, I've ruined every goddamn fucking moment in my life. It's not worth it. I have never been happy. I never will be happy. I quit.