Cleaning of the butthole, and other joys

Sometimes, toilet paper is not enough. And the cetaphil cleaner causes the TP to disintegrate. So I got some serious moist wipes.

Diaper rash ain't funny.

Why I have not so far

I would not step in front of a car or truck or train, to do so would be to pass on my misery to someone else in an horrific way. I would not make a public spectacle, leave my remains to be found by a child - to scar them. I once thought the stairwell of a hospital would be my best available option.

Right now, I have people depending on me, so it will have to wait until after I am on my own.

I do prefer January.

Itch in the back of the throat, dry cough. Mold in the air. Dust in the eyes.

August is a rough month.

If only it could be drained off the bottom

Bad day, as in last 36 hours. Grace notes, but it wore through in spots. Very old sore spots.

I don't want to go into that bottomless pool of grief and loss.

I really don't like yappy little doggies.

Watching Dog Whisperer, and learning so much about being a better human being. And dealing with difficult people, like surgeons and cranky nurses and entitled young women. Calm, but assertive, and persistent.

And that Chihuahuas are nasty little creatures.

And I never did have a family

I wasn't wanted. I wasn't expected. My mother wanted a girl, but not the girl I turned out to be. Nor the daddy's girl that might have made him happy, or not, who knows. No, I always knew I was an accident, a surprize, not REALLY wanted, not as such.


My next oldest brother was nearly nine years previous.

And failure in 3, 2, 1 ...

Been drinking today, tried to make dinner. Wound up with a jar of salsa broken on the floor. I need the time, the space to be inept, useless, incapable sometimes. Because I'm The Responsible One so fucking often.

Just because I need it does not erase the guilt when I take it.