Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Thursday, November 08, 2012
New normal, sigh...
Struggling to return to center, which seems a long way away at the moment. Antidepressant has ceased its side-effect mode, now is up to snuff and the cowwoman is feeling okay. Different, but okay. Meanwhile, life has been sort of like this painting, chaotic. Punkin got a foxtail in his tear duct, had to be sedated to get it removed. It was 1 1/2 inches long. Don't know how he does it, but if there is trouble, Punk will find it. Cowwoman had a tooth pulled yesterday. Ouch. And I ordered another humane mousetrap to replace the one I wore out after catching 13 mice in it, and strangely, caught 7 mice in the little cubes that have sat there for months. Dogs caught one in the wastepaper basket under the computer desk, too. That brings total to 23 so far. We have been a regular mouse motel here in the little yellow house. Now looking for strong body to move the stove so I can clean under it. Just hoping that is all of those little suckers. Cute, dirty little suckers. So, taking this painting to therapy tomorrow, part of a chronology of expression for the past year. Kind of interesting, really. Looking for health in the midst of this turmoil. It's in there. Somewhere.