Fear and Loathing in Salt Lake

My tolerance level has reached rock bottom. Tomorrow is my 65th birthday, a birthday I consider something of a milestone. But I have never felt less like celebrating anything. Ba Humbug! Birthdays are for children. A month or so ago I thought I wanted to have a party and made the mistake of saying so in front of a couple of friends. They got all excited about it. And as they wanted to start planning a party, I started to want to ignore it. I started remembering myself last time I had a birthday party, locked in my upstairs office overlooking the backyard and pissed off. Yes, you heard it, pissed off big time. Oh I had my reasons, but still, it was my party even if one of my guests brought a very bad "Crossover CW" band. The only band member I really knew besides her was her first ex husband, the one she married when she was in her late teens. I'd gone to high school with the prick and he'd never changed, only gotten a bit more preachy and more pompous. And for a boy who'd called himself a "musician" as a teenager, he'd only gotten worse. I do not like music that calls for a "YEEHAW!" after every tune. And if an instrument requires an electrical chord to be played, my feeling is it ought not be played in a residential neighborhood or anywhere in my earshot for that matter. I prefer the acoustic instruments. They can be played quietly. The minute people I didn't know started showing up at my party, I left the back yard and retired to my little suite of rooms upstairs in the big house, overlooking the patio. Not only could they not see me, I didn't want them to see me. I was seething. If I'd had anyplace else to go, I'd have left home entirely. I don't like half the people I know. I sure as hell have no desire to feed and entertain strangers even if I might like them under other circumstances.

Only now the only person I've always loved, even when I was mad at her, is right in the middle of a medical catastrophe. And no one can do much more than run an errand now and then. It's bad for her throat to talk. But she can email me. She saw the pulmonary oncologist at Huntsman yesterday. Today they're doing a brain scan. Then next week a PET scan. She'd just as soon forego all the tests because she feels she's being tortured, and she doesn't believe in Western Medicine at all. And since her daughter was here I've been paralyzed.

The past month has rained almost everyday off and on and most nights all night. As the thunder storms roll down from the mountains it's cold at night. This time of year I'm usually starting to fuss over the high temperatures. Our current day time highs would usually be our night time temperatures. It's been in the very low 50s at night. Yea, I'm glad I don't have to fix the swamp cooler yet, but once it first warmed up I put away the blankets. Now I'm having to get them out again. It feels like Portland. I wouldn't be complaining about this weather if it were Portland. At least I haven't had to spend a fortune on water to keep the trees alive yet.

And the dogs aren't liking going out in the rain. Especially Mawley. She will shit on the front porch rather than have a drop of rain land on her. So I have had to clean wet shit off the navy rag rug on the front porch. Today Mawley got picked up at 8:10 by the House-call Vet. She gets her hysterectomy done today along with her nails, her teeth, her anal glands, and an i d chip implanted. Yesterday I discovered a spot in the greenhouse room where Mawley has been ducking out for a quick pee just out of my sight. When I found the pool of pee, it was under the greenhouse glass, which made me think I had a leak. So I spent half an hour trying to find the place the water was getting in only to discover that it was a pool of Mawley pee. Oh she may be cute, but she's not that cute.

And throughout the past month I haven't got my whole place really clean. Not once. Oh I've cleaned the bathroom and had good intentions to tackle the rest, but... Other things got in the way. I change my bed on a regular schedule and do the laundry, but I hate vacuuming worse than even floor scrubbing on my hands and knees. Which I must do today. And here I am still writing nothing much of interest unless you just like hearing old women bitch and moan.

I may skip tomorrow altogether. I know I haven't been very consistent about visiting as it is, but I'm now telling you I won't be visiting at all until I put my house in order.