Welcome

May. 3rd, 2020 08:31 am
seventhe: (Rydia: shine)
Hi, this is Sev Dragomire, please leave a message if you want to be friends.

About
Sev is an incredibly awesome lady who is technically in her thirties but - as her friends will tell you - is actually a 75-year-old hobo grandmother who likes brandy, knitting, cats, complaining about people, and being tactless. She's a chemical engineer & polymer scientist by training, who currently works (too much) running a research-and-development scale pilot plant: her job is exhausting and horrible and unfortunately a keen fit for her skills and needs, which she finds very disappointing. She is a reasonably antisocial introvert who enjoys sharp, clever, meaningful friendships that function mostly online (to allow her antisocial introvert agoraphobia free reign).

Her health is poor; she suffers from fibromyalgia, widespread arthritis, asthma, depression, anxiety, and a broke-ass immune system whose favorite hobby is picking up flus and diseases from anywhere and slamming them down her throat for days at a time.

She loves her family, especially her two nieces, very much. She is currently in an It's Complicated with a very nice Someone.

Sevdrag is owned by three cats. Speaking with Sev is somewhat like trying to converse with your 75-year-old drunk grandmother who is just learning how to text.

This Blog

Posts here meet one or more of the following criteria:

  • Archiving the difficulties of living with fibro

  • Venting about The Job

  • liveblogging depression & anxiety

  • health-related thoughts (mental & physical)

  • Sharing writing ideas, projects, and work - ideally actual written words

  • drunken shitposting

  • thoughts on video games, books, movies, TV

  • personal updates & journal entries

  • idle thoughts on other stuff

  • drunken shitpostsing with friends
seventhe: trowasfacewhen.com (Trowa: OH NO)
So let's say I was going to make a terrible life choice and try to do NaNoWriMo. This is a bad decision, by the way, because I am trying to recover my house and prepare for hosting thanksgiving, and it's difficult to convince my brain to write words when there are chores to be done. (In my mental hierarchy, writing is only a hobby, and thus becomes optional; whereas keeping up with basic adulthood and cleaning the home are higher priority requirements - which only comes into play because my energy pool is so critically limited.)


The thing is, I have plenty of ideas, and some even in the conception stage, but they're mostly problematic in some way that adds some risk to a project I have only 10 days to prepare for...

- Ausrine (A Poly Pilot, Genderqueer Vampire, and Lesbian Werewolf Explore Space) - I have incredibly amazing and complex backstory, worldbuilding, setting, and a vague semblance of a plot, but not necessarily enough of a structure to keep it from becoming My Giant Infodump about these characters

- Shattering (In Which Sev Plays With God/Goddess Archetypes) - there's some plot, and the entire point of this story was to push forward and let the plot direct itself, but I'm having trouble working with what sort of religious archetypes I can pull and use and where the line of disrespect/appropriation lies, to a point where the writing often stutters

- Feyhaven/Witchhaven (My Self-Insert OC has Cats and Magic) - may or may not share a world with Shattering - promises to be really fun writing, urban fantasy (or rural fantasy, really), but like, what's plot

- Beacon (The Dragomire Family Magnum Opus) - has outlines, plot, everything is ready to go -- but this is nowhere near a 50K word tale, this is my crowning glory project, and even though most everything is ready to proceed I'm not sure if *I* am ready to truly dive in

- Fanfiction - fuck it, anything from Harry Potter to Final Fantasy crossover porn, just write the things

- The First Day of Autumn - has everything it needs to be word dumped, at least; started in a previous year and just got blocked/stumped

- Overflow - another previous NaNo project - same, in terms of things that were started and then blocked themselves

- The Mundane One With The Lesbian Werewolf, The Truth Witch, and Detective Work - needs to be flushed and fleshed out - easy setting, should be simple enough to push a simple plot through and make A Book


I think that's most of what I have sitting in the brainshelves; I'm sure I'll think of "the best one" approximately 35 minutes from now. It's hard to look at these and see which one wants to walk me through 50,000 words to success with a minimum of research/plotting time and a maximum of word dumping time.

Someone just tell me this is a bad idea
seventhe: (Coffee: I Own You)
why am i considering working this weekend
seventhe: (Cock: GIANT COCKFISTING)
why am i considering doing nanowrimo
seventhe: (SAZH)

of course, my incredible new motivation plan and motivated week hit a wall yesterday - bad fibro day, for no reason i could really pinpoint (other than maybe the 3 hours of good sleep my Fitbit says is all i had), came home tired and sorely braindead with my knees feeling like hot coals. I had planned to use the time before [personal profile] justira and I had our Trash TV Tuesday to do some cleaning upstairs and make a new meal, but since I was so fuck tired instead I took a "nap" (i didn't even manage to sleep; it's more "lie on the couch with eyes closed and turn brain off to defrag itself") and ate leftovers. And remained so braindead/fogged up that - while I happily participated in Trash Tv Tuesday - I couldn't manage to do anything else I wanted, like burn stamina in FFRK/FFBE/Mobius. I did end up knitting, but my brain couldn't fucking handle anything with a real pattern, so I just got a ball of pretty yarn and needles and started doing a simple thing to quiet my brain up somewhat.

and even though I got nothing on any of my lists done, I think it's still important to acknowledge that I'm going to have nights like this. My plan to get organized and reclaim the house is going to take longer than I planned. chores are going to get bumped - i had planned to work out last night, hilariously, and that just wasn't gonna happen - and I need to be okay with it; my plans and lists need to be flexible enough that having a fibro day doesn't become something i beat myself up about.

seventhe: (Default)
to be perfectly honest with you all, I fucking love grocery delivery and I'm probably never going back
seventhe: (Rydia: dragons)
in more important and relevant and interesting news, i have decided i am going to become a yoga witch in my old age, so at least i've got an aesthetic
seventhe: (Cock: GIANT COCKFISTING)
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

(part 3)

Aug. 4th, 2017 12:52 pm
seventhe: (Rydia: sparkle)

(part 1) | (part 2) | (tag)

I'd thrown the door open with such force it tore the skin from my hand in one sharp pull; I couldn't help the noise I made at that, although I choked on it partially as I took in the room.

May was floating... )

seventhe: (Burger King: In the butt!)

so mike and i are going to pittsburgh this weekend for my brother's birthday. i had a full list of things to get ready for today - get things settled for the catsitter, clean the kitchen, do some laundry so i have something to wear, pack, rig up my bike for the weekend, sort out my medications (this takes about a half hour every week to load them into my "morning" and "evening" weekly pill boxes, ugh) ... there was a lot.

the thing is, i have been tired as actual fuck this week. because i end up overcharging my energy credit card during the week, i usually try to save up and pay it off on weekends, meaning i need lots of sleep, relaxing, and a good amount of alone solo-time. because of the recent messes (previous posts), i haven't had a free weekend to myself since the middle of june. this means not only am i exhausted, and carrying around the static background-noise of someone who hasn't been able to ground herself and clear everything out*, but of course the house is a mess and i am behind on everything.

(*i am also suffering from not having my Vicodin at the moment; those four hours of reduced pain help me clear out the static noise and ground myself like fuck, but because i have to go back to formal pain management (which is a process) i don't even have that tool in the toolbox right now.)

so anyway, i am tired and pretty strung out at the moment, but it's jim's birthday and mary wants us to be a surprise, so we'll be a surprise :)

so last night, i come home tired from the pain-load on my circuits. i take two tramadol and a glass of wine, which i'm sure my liver is mad cool about but it helps shut the pain up when i don't have opiates. i crash on the couch for a bit, with cats, and then slowly start hitting my chores. i make a pact with myself because i'm watching Chopped on tv, so every commercial break i get up and do a thing. this continues on, laundry and litterboxes and drugs, via Chopped and Beat Bobby Flay commercials (look, i love BBF, it's all fancy cooking and trash talk, that's my jam), until the second wind wears off and i get tired. well, i say, i'll get up early in the morning to finish it.

the alarm goes off at 5:00.

  1. i am having a dream where a group of people (no one i know, which is surprising for my dreams) and i are hosting some kind of event luncheon thing with food and wine for fucking Donald Trump and some Republicans, I guess trying to talk some sense into them or come to an accord or argue with them or spy on them or, i don't know, it seems reasonable in the dream. and i'm some kind of power hostess but i'm focusing mainly on the cooking (thanks, fucking Chopped and Beat Bobby Flay), and trying to make points and break up fights while making sure everyone has food?, i mean at one point i fucking leave an argument to go make more fried cornmeal balls (hushpuppies i guess)???? so like: i'm already pretty discombobulated.
  2. i finally manage to get out of bed, after some snooze buttons, at about 6:00
  3. i head downstairs, turn on the keurig, head to the basement. pull the dry laundry out of the dryer and put the wet laundry in the dryer. yes, i went to bed with laundry in the washing machine. it was literally only there for like 5 hours, it didn't smell or anything
  4. i get my coffee and sit down on the floor to fold the laundry but i'm tired as fuck and end up playing out my stamina in FFBE
  5. i fold the laundry, while finishing FFBE/FFRK stamina, with Iggy and Potato helping. this literally hakes maybe an hour? i'm so tired i feel heavy, like i'm moving slowly because everything weighs 500lb, including my thoughts
  6. i finish the laundry and go to get the cats ready. write a note, set out food, fill their dishes, give them wet food breakfast, get everything set
  7. my brain finally processes that i had a dream about catering donald fucking trump, where i made him bruschetta and fucking hushpuppies rather than punching him in the face, maybe with a knife. i spend a good 15 minutes severely disappointed in my subconscious
  8. it's starting to get close to when i should be leaving for work, and i'm starting to unravel a bit here. i go upstairs to pack. weirdly i fucking gained back 9lb in the month of july, i do not know how, so i'm also trying on everything i want to pack to make sure it fits. a lot of random shit just goes in the bag
  9. i spend a half hour sorting out my pills. i have 20 empty pill bottles and at least 2-3 refills of each type, which makes everything more confusing than it should be. i do not know how it happened and my brain really wants to know rather than focus on getting each med in its appropriate pill box. eventually the boxes are full
  10. i scramble to get ready for work, throw some shit on, the jeans are actually still damp but honestly i ignore it bc they stretch out better that way after a wash. hair goes up in a braid, fucks not given
  11. head down to start loading the car. checking my important list on my phone. get jim's gift in the back seat, bike pump in the trunk because once it had a spider on it. look around the garage, and i don't have my bike rack
  12. it must be in fucking mike's garage
  13. i legit spend 20 minutes attempting to cram my goddamn bicycle into the back seat of my fucking honda civic
  14. i mean, maybe if i take the front wheel off
  15. the front wheel isn't coming off, the brakes are in the way
  16. how do i undo brakes
  17. maybe if i wedge it this way
  18. fuck it we're gonna have to stop by on the way out and get my bike
  19. head back in to wash the oil and smudge off of my hands. i am sweaty, and extremely cranky at this point
  20. hands clean, everything else in the car, head out to get in and go to work
  21. the bike rack is hanging from one of my ceiling hooks
  22. someone was helpful and "put it away"
  23. at this point i am decidedly sweaty, cranky, and obscenely late for work. there's a constant stream of "fuck you, fuck this, fucking fuck, fuck this shit, fuck everything" coming out of my mouth like i'm reciting the world's worst rosary
  24. while taking the rack down the straps get caught in my hair and pull half of it out. everything is terrible
  25. the rack is on the fucking car. the bike is on the fucking rack. go wash my hands again.
  26. get into the car. what's on my seat? oh, it's the post it note of my to-do list. let's check it. i forgot to leave the key for the fucking catsitter
  27. fuck you, fuck this, fucking fuck, fuck this shit, fuck everything
  28. the key is safely in a plastic bag in its place
  29. i am stopping at starbucks if it fucking kills me
  30. literally i do not care if i am fired for being late i'm getting a goddamn starbucks

...

  1. get to work. no one is here. half the group is traveling or on vacation, and the other half is off for 9/80 fridays. all my brain can come up with is "9/11" and i sit staring into space for 20 mins trying to figure out what the 9/11 schedule is
  2. it is surreal
  3. i don't know what i'm doing

so now i really just want a nap. and another starbucks

seventhe: (Edge/Rydia: no return)
This is an experiment with writing. Basically, I've taken one of the many modern/urban fantasy worlds I've build in my head, dropped a couple barely-formed characters into it with a plot idea that might be 7 words long on a good day and pressed Go.

The things I post are barely edited. They may have typos. They're not majorly-high-quality writing, in which I've lovingly labored over sentences and synonyms. They contain far too much punctuation and will probably systematically abuse italics. They're not going to be perfect.

What I want to see is if - and how well - I can build something interesting, something resembling a story, out of these incomplete ideas and fragmented entries. This is word-and-story brainstorming. It's an experiment. I want to try to make something really cool (or at least decently cool) from this nearly nonexistent framework, and see what happens, and where it takes me.

The process is simple: I open up DW during a break at work, and let my brain and fingers go. Whatever happens, I read it over once or twice to correct anything truly offensive, and then make myself post. It's casual, just to practice writing and practice creating to try to get back into the habit.

So, that's what's going on here.

the shattering's world )

For readers of this journal: you are welcome to read and comment and interact, or ignore, as much as you would like. Feel free to ask questions, point things out, make suggestions - whatever, I will love any feedback.

(part 2)

Jul. 18th, 2017 01:56 pm
seventhe: (Quistis: smile)

(part 1)

I struck something invisible and ended up tumbling out of the magic onto the front lawn, landing in an awkward heap. Hey, it happens sometimes: in this case, May and Arston had probably changed the wards and I'd have to retune myself. Or, I thought, as I slowly sat up from my pile-of-trash pose and noticed the blinding glow, something more powerful is blocking puny magic like mine without thinking about it...

blinding light )

help

Jul. 13th, 2017 05:13 pm
seventhe: (Rydia: whyt)
i'm trying to finish another prompt-fic with MAH BOI LARSA (a next chapter to the one i wrote a few weeks ago) but this sequel is tumbling around itself and i'm unsure of it so plz advise in comments:

do i

a) finish what i have and post it as done - it needs maybe another 200-500 words to be FINISHED - even imperfect, which it really is, it's a fic, and guess what penelo and larsa can smooch as many times as i want

b) scrap the oddly tumbled word vomit and start over with something cleaner that will be what i want this piece to be

c) give up entirely and write penelo/larsa coffeehouse au trash

d) do a different prompt-fic and come back to this next week

e) [something else you're going to tell me in the comments]

(part 1)

Jul. 11th, 2017 12:24 pm
seventhe: (Tifa: bad)
I dreamt the end of the world last night. The webpapers all said it was common to dream about the end of the world now, but I'd never had one before. In usual dream fashion it didn't make any sense: I was in "Japan", for whatever reason, even though I've never been to Japan, in a strange tall building half-business-office and half-dormitory in that way dreams do where it makes perfect sense to leave your meeting and go down a floor to take a nap. There were people I knew - I know - but I didn't recognize any of them out of the dream. I was coming from some work meeting and for some reason tucking in a roomful of young boys going to bed - and it all happened. The nukes came down, crashing out of the sky, and even though none of them were even close to us, we could all still see the pillars of fire, the tidal wave of smoke, the scent of ashes...

And of course in the dream nothing rose up, and there was no Shattering: and we all felt something dark and hot and burning roll over us in waves. I guess that's how my dream-self was imitating radiation; not like we knew what it felt like. The children screamed, and I was running back through the building and screaming, my skin scorched like a sunburn, and when I got to my dorm room all of my friends were already black and burnt, scarred corpses tipped over or leaning against each other.

The thing is, you wake up from a dream like that and instantly know it isn't true. Your brain is already running through the litany of logic that you need: seven years ago mankind did in fact try to destroy itself, its homes, its planet, by launching nearly every nuclear warhead in existence in a round robin of angry men; but the earth decided it was sick of this shit - our shit - and stepped in. First the world froze time, trapping all of us in this weird viscoelastic stasis where our minds were aware but everything around us had been stopped. Then our planet took a deep breath, which we all heard and felt - and then it shattered what must have been a barrier between its - its power - and us.

No one knew the earth had been protecting us from her magic for so long, although the scientists say it makes sense in retrospect, considering the times magic has leaked through a crack and broken the known laws of physics. But that layer shattered like so much glass - the Shattering - and the power that rushed through vaporized every single explosive that had been fired, and all that hadn't, and just wiped from existence every known warhead and weapon that could damage her.

Then the earth - well, we still don't really know how or why, but the prevailing theory is that our planet needed to tell us something (tell us off, in my opinion; humanity is a gigantic gaping asshole) and it used the history it had: the power coalesced into archetypes of worship, ancient and modern, anything the earth thought mankind might revere and follow. It created the Incarnate, the avatars, the graced: gods and goddesses, angels and devils, from all creeds and all times. Those chosen became vessels for whatever archetypical power had chosen them, and thus began the only way the planet had for us to communicate with her: the best way she had to create protectors that could speak with her voice.

So now, even through apparently everyone had dreams about the end of the world, it hadn't really ended at all - shifted, irrevocably, the complacency with which humanity had lived shattered as well, but not the end. In seven years, I had never dreamed about it. I'd had my share of stupid dreams, sure, but my subconscious had been happy to leave well enough alone - until last night.

I sat up slowly, because even though my brain was doing a great job reciting the facts, I still had this odd feeling in the pit of my belly: almost nauseous, like a physical sense of doom. People said you were supposed to pay attention to your dreams now, with magic out and about, but whatever this had been I didn't really want to pay attention to it.

Coffee would help. I wrenched myself out of the covers and into the kitchen.

I was halfway through the mug and a game on my mobile when it rang. Unknown number, huh. I almost ignored it, but it looked somewhat familiar and that nagged at me. (I haven't memorized a phone number other than my own since I was a small child, so what?) Plus I was still feeling residual existential dread over my dream, and I was mad because I was out of bagels. So I picked it up. "H'lo?"

"Mor," Arston said breathlessly, "I need you to - you need to come over, okay?"

"Arston?" I asked, even though I recognized his voice, and from there remembered I hadn't added his new number to my phone. "Did something happen? Is May okay?" Arston was May's roommate; May was my best friend, had been for almost our entire lives, and had been fighting off a major flu for a while.

"It's May," he said, and my heart dropped - I heard him swallow, and then he continued in an incredibly small voice: "I think she's becoming Manifest?"

"Manifest?" I squeaked, suddenly feeling vertigo. "Incarnate?"

"I - I don't know, Mor, can you please just get over here?" He took in a deep breath, and then exhaled. "She said your name, asked for you."

Shit. Incarnate or not, May would be asking for me, because no one else in her shitty family was going to be any help with any of this. "Yeah, Arston, I'll be there as fast as I can..."

"Good." He hung up.

I realized I was shivering. The foreboding feeling of my dream had mixed with my panic over my friend and created a weirdly toxic adrenaline cocktail. I needed to get to their house - driving would take twenty minutes, biking about the same. If I could calm myself down, I could transport.

My magic wasn't that old - it showed up about five or six years ago, right after the Shattering, but it had taken until about two years ago for it to have solidified enough for me to make use of it. I sat down the coffee mug, checked on the cats' bowls - they would be fine, and took a deep breath. Clasped my hands before me, fingers extended along opposite wrists. Set my intention in my mind. Called up the magic, carefully, focusing only on the spell, trying to shove everything else off into the corners where it could wait. Then I pulled my hands apart, and before I could doubt myself, pushed myself head-first into the glimmering opening the movement had created.
seventhe: (Default)
Today I learned that my phone autocorrect and predictive texting have pretty effectively picked up my mannerisms and habits and vocabulary, SOOOOO as a game whose bounds are "hilarity" or "creepily accurate", leave me a one-word prompt to start a phrase and my phone and I will read you your fortune.
seventhe: (Quistis/Rydia: Yeah I Ship It)

so i've talked here a lot about fibromyalgia, and stress, and energy and chronic fatigue, and the concept of overcharging on a credit card and then having to pay the balance and interest later; it's an analogy that feels pretty close to the experience, just another way to phrase the spoon theory. I've been managing this on a microscale for the last couple years: spend all my energy at work, push off the crash until i get home, have no energy to do anything; repeat. well, it turns out this happens on the macroscale as well, as i found out last week when i finally had the first part of the breakdown i've been holding off for four years running.

i took two days off of work to manage it - yeah, i haven't even been here a month and i'm taking vacation, but they know about my health problems and are v understanding - and it was ... just ... weird

it's very overwhelming when all the bullshit you've been suppressing for four years straight decides to come due and crash down on you all at once. and it isn't over -- you can't recover from four years in ten days, you just can't.

but that's where i am, and that's what is happening, and my partner and i had an incredibly pleasant lazy weekend and he also cleaned my entire kitchen (as in, exiled me to the couch to relax while he cleaned it, which did lead to a massive meltdown on my part, but worked eventually when i fell asleep on the couch) and we went to the farmer's market and bought delicious fresh local food and veggies and fruits, so i have good motivation to eat well and take care of myself this week.

i'm very wary of what else might be behind the (cracking, breaking) dam, waiting to flood me out, but ... if i could handle those four years, i can handle whatever backlash they're gonna dish out

seventhe: (Cats: I LIKE THEM)

We continue to grow and mature :3 At 5-6 weeks, the kittens are less clumsy (please note I did not say "no longer clumsy" because, well, kittens) and very curious. This weekend we had our first outing, to my screened-in porch. it went reasonably well; the kittens were a little intimidated by things like SUN and NATURE!!!! but recovered quickly and had a good exploration. I need to start showing them to Porter and Rydia, so that they understand that cats other than themselves exist, to help them be potentials for a multi-cat home.

Mama also had some outings: she got to explore the 2nd floor, and went out on the porch, and exchanged some tentative interactions with Porter (they ate treats within 2 feet of each other with no signs of distress). The problem is, now she wants to go out the door, a lot. I can understand hating being trapped in one room with your 4 hyperactive little shits, but Mama's gotta bear it for now.

Fostering takes time. On a work day, I have 3-4 visits: once in the morning before I leave (food, water); once right after I get home (food, water, litterboxes); once mid-evening (playtime); and once before I go to bed (whatever needs doing). Ideally these visits should be at least 15 min, and the more time you can spend with your fosters, the better they'll do...

I'm in a new job (MORE ON THAT LATER, YO) with the 9/80 option, which I'm going to try initially. This makes my target work hours 7:30-8:00 -- 17:00-17:30 for most days. This means normally I need to be up and moving by 6:30 at the latest, and that includes no time for kits; it also means I won't be home until like 18:30-19:00 usually, as I have to hit the grocery, run errands, work out, etc after work. I have to get my ass in bed earlier to hit that earlier hour, like 23:00 latest. This gives me a little over 4 hr every night to relax, eat dinner, care for ALL cats (mine and the temps), do chores, and maybe do a hobby thing. I am not sure I like this schedule; however every other Friday off sounds nice.

My sleep goals are 23:00-06:00 for now. This means I need to be in bed ABOUT 22:30 because I take a ton of time to fall asleep. Even typing about sleep is gross right now. I am tired

I don't know what else to say, I'll try to post some more recent photos because these stupid assholes are 2cute

seventhe: (chocobo: hey bb)
I haven't gotten to post updates this week because I've been sick, plus some absolutely unexpected shit went down at work, but I have nothing but good news about the little family.

Rosa responded well to my cues and figured out how to use the litter box within 48 hr. It's still a bit funny watching her go as she chose one of the kitten sized boxes as "hers", so when she tries to bury it, its with newspaper and blankets as well as litter. We haven't quite learnt communication yet - I feel like she wants something she's warbling for, but maybe it's just attention and pets - and she definitely gets a look of solid relief when I have all 4 kids romping on me, like oh ok you've got this imma nap.

The kittens are all eating on their own, though they're also still nursing. They think that Big Mom is Best Toy, who comes with variations like Chew Pants, Attack Toes, and Climb Up Back. They also doze off on me occasionally in those 5-10 min kitten power naps.

They're all curious about the door. I need a plan of attack.
seventhe: (Cats: I LIKE THEM)

This is the Mama, known as Queen Rosa (because queen is the term for a mama cat with a litter of kittens). She's made huge strides even in the two days she has been in my house, although not in pooping.



This is Noctis. He likes to zoom, and chew on my fingers.



This is Prompto, the only lady. She likes to romp and climb on me.



This is Iggy Alton Brown. He likes to romp, but also likes his solitude. He tries to climb my sleeves.



This is Potato. He likes to sit on me, and refuses to eat because he likes nursing the best. He is pretty clumsy.




This is a lap party: see from top down Prompto, Iggy, Noctis, and Potato.
seventhe: trowasfacewhen.com (Trowa: OH NO)
So today has hit some small pros and our first major con, so i'll get that out of the way first: even though the kids are taking splendidly to the litterbox, Mama Rosa for absolute definite sure is not litter-trained. She has been very polite about it, albeit rather weird -- most cats don't want their business near their food, while Mama has, uh, used whatever I have under the food both times -- so while i get to manage these terrible little twits, i also get to litter-train mom. woo. done it before, yeah, but was really hoping mum would take a hint from kids. especially as i'm changing their litter over to a non-clumping natural litter, because babies lick tons of it off their feet when learning how to poo and i'd rather not have one of my darlings need an emergency run from blockage. tiiiiiime to line that side of the room with newspaper so i can use it to t r a i n.

some good moments from the day: apparently all 4 kids have decided that Big Mom is the greatest thing in the world to climb on and romp on. I'm covered in tiny little claw scratches - today, we introduced the concept of claw-clipping - but i CAN say that Potato sat on my shoulders for a good deal of the morning. I open the door and get flooded by tiny bodies fighting over who reins the magical Land of Lap. i finally got mama enough food that she isn't scarfing down everything she gets (this will, unfortunately, be a fact of life days i'm near work, until i can convince her that dry food is in fact tasty and will be okay to nom). Mama comes out to greet me and purrs when i pet her.

i am desperately in love with all 5 of them, and i already know that this separation is going to be really, really hard. i've fallen for two of them already, hard, but today the other two really worked on my heart, and of course a not-so-secret part of me is hoping Mama shapes up to be a merge-able friend to my existing family -- but as always i keep telling myself that fostering is to make other families happy and that taking a foster needs to remain a last-resort option in my back pocket for true emergency situations. my cousin today asked about them on facebook and i think my heart broke thinking of not being able to keep them.

i had low-key anxiety all day; i woke up exhausted, 3 hours of sleep according to my Fitbit, had a dr appt this morning, just a "check up" which ended up being generally useless AFTER being late because the power was out in the entire area, so i was later than expected to work and never pulled myself out of the hole; the latter half of my day was full of anxiety that someone would shock themselves or swallow too much litter or make it out the door of god knows what, and i couldn't get home fast enough ALTHOUGH i HAD to stop for more supplies to keep this crowd going.

also not helping the fact is that i'm still crying about Marzy - around every 2-3 days, something will strike me, and i am suddenly Not Okay again in tears on the floor. (i've built a tiny - shrine makes me sound crazy; it's a little memorial area, with the three cards from his vets (that made me cry again) and his ashes and the bit of fur they saved for me and some flowers and an offering bowl of water, of course, with a hairband in it, because he was an asshole.) these cats are in no way a replacement for him, but it's like a double-whammy-gone-bad: i feel like i'm desperately trying to plug something in the hole, except it's more obvious now that nothing is ever going to fill that hole and all i can do is wait for time to smooth out the jagged edges.

i'm starting to realize that this isn't all about the loss of a piece of my heart, and that it's more about the desperate cry for help of someone who's at the end of her rope and has been for a while and is compiling issues on issues because she has the emotional range of a tree stump



ANYWAY, let me see if i can upload some photos, and you all can meet the kittens, enough with this sobbing ass bullshit

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