What a day I have had. I come straight to rant and I have other blogs to check (Raine)so here I am. I'm a greenie, so if I weren't impatient I would right now figure out that linking thing to Raine's site because I did go there last night, after taking night meds (which I don't say exactly what they are because people can't believe I can operate on this sh*t)and I would keep it here for myself as it was beautiful and something I would scream out to the world myself. Scream, wow, I guess I just feel like screaming. Don't worry, I will leave my full thoughts on it as a response. I tried to last night, but darlin' I was fading fast.
First we'll start with my day, which I hope to keep short because I have something more important to share further down. I work at a newspaper and my main job is putting obituaries in daily. I deal with funeral homes all the time and have a telephone for this purpose. I would like to take that telephone and shove in the unnecessary to name place. Understand, I am good on the telephone, but if I were to be left alone to type, which I might add it seems that everyone else is, but me the bipolar who gets mad much easier than the average bear has to? I would in fact, probably be just fine. Well, that is why I'm learning medical transcription so I can type til the sun don't shine and call people when I feel like it. Anyway, the one thing useful that my useless therapist seems to have come to the conclusion is that I am the angy/irritated manic not the pie in the sky max your credit card and gosh lovin' that manic high manic. If you're that type I hope your not too offended but my mania aint even fun, kapish? Oh, don't get me wrong I've been to crazy land hun, my true mania goes right to psychotic and into the arms of a psychiatric hospital. Why does life have suck so for me? All I am left with are a few stellar gifts, the major of being writing, and here we find ourselves. I find it interesting that I needed to tell you specifics about my mania to rant about the job because in the end that's what it all comes down to. I'm very high functioning person who is possessed by a mental illness but even the most functioning can be pushed only too far. That doesn't mean that I can take a lot, because I can't. Without going into the sordid details (I guess I spare any readers since I didn't think folks would care, but if you are dying to know (yes, pun) just say so) all it took today to make me want to quit is an email from someone who was unhappy with a family member's obituary.In trying to deal with it I was mostly left on my own by superiors. Oh, and I don't like to cut on a bereaved person, but she was just psycho and nasty. There, I said it. Other days I have a specific f.h. that is nasty and pulls all kinds of tricks like it was an artform. I physically get sweaty palms so that you can feel the slickness with a finger. I just don't need that kind of stress. I don't see normal people having those kind of reactions at their piece of crap part-time jobs or anywhere else for that matter. I am training for something different, something I HOPE will be better, but I did want to walk in to my Executive Editor's office and say, "No more."
Now another thing: My smoking has gotten way out of control. We're talking cigarettes here and no I'm not even having that many per day. But I quit 3 years ago. You may remember me half-joking about thinking about starting again after what I hope will be the last hell wedding in our family. Well, I went out and purchased some on Monday. I know there is something really wrong in my life if I am doing this to myself, besides what is truly troubling is that emotionally I think I deserve them, that I need something to help me because in fact I feel that no one listens or if they do in fact listen, they cannot understand. I am not saying to this to be Whanh! in blog land or anywhere else, I'm talking about my life in reality.
Alright, on to the next order business. Things really are sad here in the Jungle because my mother had to put her cocker spaniel to sleep today. My husband and I live with my mother. There I said it, the romanticism and mystery is just gone. I normally hide this 'vile' secret as close to my heart as I do my bipolar from normies but what the hell, this opens even bigger possiblities for rant. Anyhow, she buried her beloved dog in the Pet Cemetery, a certain area in the back yard, so named by my husband. Also, I brought Myles home today, compact and cremated in a lovely box from the emergency vet. He now rests in my hutch, above my nifty Pug statue. My husband is against the Pet Cemetery, I guess he finds it wrong in many ways. Anyhow, their bodies are with us in some ways, but in fact their souls have gone to a better place. Now, I am going to type in 'Rainbow Bridge.' It's really only fitting, for even though the Jungle is being reconstituted (I am actively looking for my next feline and Mom might like a Pug of her own), most of it as I have known it has left, except for Emma, my Pug. I believe all of these that we have loved so much deserve the beautiful place of which this poem speaks. I know that some think it's cheesy or overdone, but I think its comforting mostly. I don't claim to know what the next life is, but I don't see anything wrong with the one they're talking about here.
Rainbow Bridge
There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the
Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. Just this side of the
Rainbow Bridge there is a land of meadows, hills and valleys with
lush green grass.
When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place.
There is always food and water and warm spring weather.
The old and frail animals are young again. Those who are maimed
are made whole again. They play all day with each other.
There is only one thing missing. They are not with their special person
who loved them on Earth. So each day they run and play until
the day comes when one suddenly stops playing and looks up. The
nose twitches! The ears are up! The eyes are staring!
And this one suddenly runs from the group.
You have been seen, and when you and your special friend meet,
you take him or her in your arms and embrace. Your face is kissed
again and again, and you look once more into the eyes of your
trusted pet.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together, never again to be
separated.
--Anonymous
To Boo, Cocoa, Myles and Snooky. You are loved, forever.
