Here Kitty Kitty Kitty

Re- Posted from some other blog…written by some other person. Damn, they seem so familiar too 😉

Here Kitty Kitty Kitty.

via  Here Kitty Kitty Kitty.

Read the original at the Beetlejuice 2014 at the link above,

I has pictures and every-thang!

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Last week my therapist told me I should adopt Cat as my totem animal. This is the same guy who told me he believed in aliens a few weeks ago. Not as in ‘there must be life out there some place’ but the whole ancient astronauts building the pyramids and making crop circles. Pulled my jaw up off the floor and said ‘Did you ever consider that when a civilization gets to a certain point somebody says ‘Hey, I am sick and tired of these goddamned square buildings?.’
Think I hurt his feelings but since a therapist is basically just a person you pay to be your friend, he can deal with it.

This is the So You’re A Cat backstory. Make sure your coffee is still hot.
I’ve been a Raven for more years than I can remember (so up until 2012 at least).
Think may know I’m diagnosed bi-polar (about 10 years ago). Along with a list of other disorders; which I was only made aware of after looking at my intake/nurse’s form and hospital records during that lovely 2 month hospital stay last year. It’s my expert opinion that my diagnosis consists of two disorders and they go together, but what do I know?
Have only had 3 manic episodes in my life; none caused me to re-paint the house, chain smoke or lose weight though. Have what is called Dysphoric Mania.

So the point is: Prior to being diagnosed as anything but a garden variety neurotic with Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety Disorder (this is what happens when your father is a psychiatrist) I KNEW when an ‘episode’ of severe depression, and all of my worst symptoms, was impending.
I hear cats.

They’re saying ‘Banish the dog! Banish the dog!
I Hear Cat Voices. This isn’t the pin I carried. This graphic almost appalls me with it’s bad design. I feel a lawsuit coming on.

Not like Son of Sam; Snowball isn’t telling me to kill the dog or the neighbors. Just a faint meowing of a kitty coming from somewhere outside my line of sight. As I’ve always had a cat or cats it didn’t seem that bizarre, and has become a family joke. A few close friends are also aware and are cheerfully allowed to make puckish comments about the kitty thing. When I owned a retail store there was a button available that I carried, ‘I Hear Cat Voices.’ Sonofabitch I sold hundreds of those. Makes me wonder.

So I get this a new shrink here, as I moved. The guy is humorless and has no business as a clinician. Only see him for meds so let it slide. Made the mistake of mentioning the cat thing to this I-take-every-word-literally fool while he was filling out his 50 question paperwork on our first visit. Then he asks me how often I hallucinate.
Back up. What? I don’t SEE cats, and on occasion I have heard cats and there’s actually a cat outside the door.
I DO check every time though. Hmmmm. Also thinking: after everything I’ve told him: what I’d like to work on, past traumas that still bother me, how come mom and dad did like me best?
Why is he fixating on the cat thing?
My second visit he leans back in his chair and says, with his thick accent, and out of the blue, “Tell me about these cats.” All I could think of was the Thomas Dolby song Blinded me with Science with the line ‘Tell me about your childhood!’

Tell me about these cats…

So back to last week: Was telling my therapist about my loony psychiatrist and the cat obsession. He cracked up and said in all seriousness ‘I think you should adopt the cat as your spirit animal.’
Thought about it for a few seconds and said ‘You’re right. I’ve always wanted to come back as one of my cats. Sure it’s a paradox, but so am I.’

I don’t like milk but this shouldn’t be a hindrance. My own cat doesn’t like milk. Unless it’s in the form of ice cream. Whoa, me too!

Which breed am I? Cool cat? Hep cat? Am I registered. Damn, at least I’ve been spayed.

Kitties and Sunshine and Effexor,
Beetlejuice
Beetlejuice
Beetlejuice

Mother’s Day Makes Me Cry

ceasarean section

Mother’s Day is Sunday.

Last year I sent my daughter to live with her father at this time. This year I’m even more alone.

There’s something fucked up about being utterly alone every day and night, especially if you’ve previously spent 20 years of your life married and 13 of those with your child in the house as well.

Maybe it’s that Mother’s Day is dovetailing with the move into this house. I’m finally feeling settled here so my mind is no longer as occupied with the thousand tiny problems that a move presents. Now that same neurotic mass of gray matter is back to it’s usual tricks.

A person can escape from a lot of things but unfortunately the cerebellum is continually attached and functioning. Damned brain. Doh.

God knows I’ve tried to placate that culpable cerebellum. For years I drowned it in alcohol and drugs. Phalanxes of doctors have tried to re-organize the functioning with pharmaceutical cocktails.

Years of analysis and psychotherapy have resulted in new Porsches and second homes
for the doctors.

I’ve tried exercise –with an iPod or Walkman to shut out my thoughts-, reading, watching movies (I have a difficult time sitting still through them), writing, sex, food and playing the piano.

Some days the head wins though. The will to even try and avoid those dark alleyways has vanished. You never know do you?

The last year was a bad one. Seems it all started to go sideways last May. Hopefully a better twelve months shall ensue. C~ will be with me at Christmas break and summer break, and I can hardly wait. Allowing her to go and live with her dad is a decision which I’ll never forgive myself for.

New house, my beautiful piano is on it’s way, and the sun is shining in Reno again. Hell, we even had another earthquake last night. Could be a sign of change.

Could be a sign of the Apocalypse.

Oh wait. The Apocalypse is already here. Bush is still in office and gas is almost $4.00 a gallon.

If I can make it through Mother’s Day without totally losing it there’s hope. I’ll talk on the phone with my mom, my step-mother and of course my own daughter.

I’ll drink a cup of coffee to that.

~the fairly morose miss b