0026. I hate my cats. Still.

I've never really been what you'd call a cat person. In fact, I sort of hate them. But I got Stinky for Monkey anyway, because I felt she needed an animal to grow up with, and a dog is out of the question because we live in a small condo with no yard for the dog to run in. At the time we got Stinky, I didn't know that PK was going to move in with us, because he'd been hemming and hawing over us officially living together for a while. While I'm over the moon that PK finally did move in with us, I'm not-so-ecstatic that the animals came with. Obviously.

Remember my I Haz Anger post? I hand-wrote an "I Haz Anger... Part 2" post the other night. To sum up (because the hand-written post is about 5 pages long): the cats pooped on Monkey's comforter. A few days later, I accidentally locked them in my room and they pooped and peed on my comforter, which is too large for me to put in the washing machine, so I had to take it to the laundromat. The day I got the comforter from the laundromat, they peed on Monkey's bed.

If you remember from my last post, I've been having some serious anger issues lately. I had all sorts of fantasies about how I was going to kill the cats. Antifreeze in their drinking water. Letting them out of the house. Running them over with my car. Throwing them out the window... I'm not a violent person normally, but this is getting out of control and I don't know what to do.

PK won't let me get rid of the animals. Any of them. Even though Tessa sits in her cage all the time, never played with, rarely talked to, and making a mess for me to clean up - because even though she's PK's bird, I'm the one who feeds, waters, and cleans up after her. The same goes for the cats (although PK does play with the cats a lot - they're his babies). I'm the one who feeds and cleans up after them.

And how fair is that?? Why is is that I'm the one taking care of them? They're not mine. I don't want them. And yet I'm saddled with the responsibility of keeping them alive & happy. If I had it my way, they'd be given to good homes or sold (in Tessa's case... she's worth about $3,000).

Per TwiMom227's suggestion, I'm going to write a letter to PK, stating my feelings on the situation and asking for a peaceful (and fair) resolution. The one thing I have to say though... if Ditto continues to use anything but the litterbox as his place to pee, he's got to go. I cannot and will not allow him to remain here if he does. It's not sanitary and I refuse to put my child (and myself) in that kind of living situation. Not to mention the risk of toxoplasmosis...

I had Monkey's carpet professionally cleaned today. The guy who did the room said that the smell might come back, because the carpet was fairly saturated in urine, and because it's especially acidic, it's likely already gone through the padding and is possibly starting to eat at the concrete below (cat urine is acidic, concrete is alkaline. mixing the two is not good juju). I'm going to call the landlord and ask him if we're allowed to rip out the carpet and replace it with something else. I'm thinking wood flooring, since carpet sucks. We already have to replace the wood flooring in front of the bathroom because the asshole Ditto used that for his bathroom before he discovered Monkey's room.

God, I hate my cats.

0025. I don't know where I am & I don't trust where I've been

iTunes: "Full Moon" - The Black Ghosts

mood: emo & ridiculous

I've been battling with some pretty bad anger issues lately. According to PK, I've been "mean" for the past 4-5 months. While I admit that I've been touchier lately, I don't think that I've been mean. I've still done everything in my power to make sure that he and Monkey are happy while still trying to maintain some semblance of sanity and my own identity, but if they (he) say anything that I construe as "rude" or even slightly off, I immediately flip the bitch switch. And that's not right!

I know he's not always as rude as I feel he's being. He's abrasive sometimes, but he's actually quite a wonderful guy. He works his ass off and takes care of us and he really loves us with all his heart... but it's never enough for me. I'm a selfish greedy bitch and I want more.

I want him to hold my hand, tell me he loves me all the time (without my prompting him first), to be sweet and cuddly and teddy-bearish, and to fucking propose! I want him to tell me he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, loving me, and treating me like a queen. I don't think that's so much to ask, is it?

I know he's not the teddy-bear type. He's not smooshy and into public displays of affection and I knew that going in. I was in one of my "I don't want to be touched" phases, so it was fine with me. And sometimes he does let me climb all over him and smooch all over his face, so it's not as though I'm going without affection. He makes me happy and he takes care of me.

And I've completely gone off on a tangent. This is not what I wanted to talk about.

I've been on a rollercoaster lately. One minute I'm up, the next I'm so low that I can see what my downstairs neighbor is doing because I'm through the floor.

I'm downphasing right now and battling the urge to either cry or scream. Monkey was playing in her room (instead of putting on her nightgown like PK told her to do) and she shattered the piggybank I got for her before she was born. Since I got it from a craft store in San Antonio, there's no way I can replace it. And I was already ready to cry, so when I saw that it was the piggybank, I burst into tears. PK was understanding about why I was crying but upset with Monkey for fucking around instead of doing what she was told. I still feel like a dumbshit for bursting into tears over a piggybank.

My doctor put a consult into Mental Health for me, but I don't know when that's going to happen. It's the VA and they're notoriously overworked, understaffed, and slow as hell. Until then, I'll have to figure out a way to keep going.