From the So Crazy It Could Only Happen To Ali file: The Pillow Fight League

Yesterday I went into Toronto to meet with a guy from the Meetup.com movie geek club to see 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days. Incidentally, the film is fantastic and I recommend you see it. I had never met this guy before, but it has been years since I've been on a "gay date" and this guy sounded like fun. Anyway, after the film we grabbed some dinner, and he mentioned he was going to the Women's Pillow Fight League championship match at the Gladstone that evening. He invited me along, and I was intrigued but broke. He offered to buy my ticket, so I agreed.

Well, the match turned out to be a riot. I got a real kick out of seeing these girls dressed up in crazy costumes like WWE wrestlers and beating the hell out of each other with pillows. They all had weird names like Boozy Suzy, Polly Esther, Lynn Somnia and Eiffel Power. We cheered loudly and booed the referee when he broke them up from great holds.

Then the announcer said they were looking for amateurs to jump in the ring. I was feeling a bit headachy and although Ryan insisted I should fight, I said "not tonight". He was determined I was going to cave eventually. I got up to use the washroom at some point, and when I returned Ryan pointed to a tall slim girl and said she wanted to fight me. She looked friendly enough, so in a sudden moment of insanity I accepted her challenge. I signed the waiver and registered my fighter name as armedwithjello. My opponent, Jenna, dubbed herself J Rage. I had a chat with her at intermission, and we agreed to fight barefoot so as to reduce the risk of accidentally injuring each other. We also took note of piercings and agreed to avoid ripping them out. She told me Ryan had approached her and told her I wanted to fight her, and she hadn't seen me but agreed. When I returned and she saw me, she thought "Oh crap! I'm toast!" Hehe.

So intermission ended and another pro fight took place, the we were the first of two amateur matches to fight. The pillows were placed in the middle of the mats and we took opposite corners. The bell rang and I snatched my pillow up first, and we started wailing on each other. I had the benefit of sheer power and J Rage had the advantage of height so she could clock me from above. I managed to get my arms around her but was unable to flip her to the floor to pin her. After a minute of struggling this way, I let go and backed up to reconsider my tactics. We smacked each other around a bit more, and the crowd was screaming like a pack of rabid baboons. J Rage. planted the pillow across my face and raised her fist to punch the pillow (a perfectly legal move), but just then I turned my head and saw her fist as it approached and my full direct contact with my left eye. I spun around with my hand over my eye. It didn't hurt all that much, I was just stunned. I took a moment to consider whether to keep fighting, and after discussion with the ref and questioning by the announcer, I was declared the winner. The crowd went ballistic. I ran over and hugged J Rage and told her I knew it was an accident, and we had a laugh. She smacked me one more time with her pillow as I bent to put on my shoes.

I passed my crowd of adoring fans that ten minutes before hadn't noticed I existed, and asked the bartender for a bag of ice. He had missed it and didn't know what happened. I filled him in as he put some ice in a garbage bag for me. I turned around with ice on my face and a cameraman was right there waiting to interview me for the DVD. He asked me how I felt, what actually happened, and whether I would consider fighting again. He also asked to see the eye and asked whether it hurt. I was so pumped I was talking a mile a minute and laughing and being crazy. He thanked me for the interview and I moved on.

As I passed the swag table, I told the salesgirl I deserved a free t-shirt. She said she couldn't, but apparently she hadn't seen the punch. Just then a guy approached me and asked if I was hit through the pillow or just clipped on the side of the head. I said no, I took the full force of fist to orbital socket and would have an awesome black eye to show off to my mom for Christmas. The salesgirl heard this and asked me what size shirt I wanted. Yay! I promised to send photos of the progressing injury to the web site for promotional use. The MC said he'd get me a copy of the DVD when it's ready, so I'll have professional video of the event. I also had Ryan record the fight with my camera, so I'll post that on YouTube as soon as I can get the file transferred to a computer.

Ryan bought me a shot of something sweet and yummy, and I posed for photos with J Rage. We traded e-mail addresses and agreed to stay in touch. We talked about being a Tag Team, and I came up with the team name Fatgirl Slim. We had both been asked for our contact info by the organisers, as they call back the best amateur fighters and offer them "professional" positions. Professional means you actually get paid to go to various venues and fight. Ryan figured it was in the range of $500 a fight. Sweet ass! However, I don't know whether I would do it again, but it was certainly worth doing once just to say I did it.

Twelve hours later, my eye is definitely black and a little swollen. It hurts a bit to smile, but it's not bad. The skin isn't broken and my vision isn't affected, so all is good. I'm just glad J Rage removed her huge square plastic ring before the fight or I would have lost my eye!

When I got to Finch station at 2AM I phoned Gilly and woke her up to tell her what had happened. I just couldn't wait to share the news. I was also happy to find Ellen still awake when I got home, so I was able to tell her about it as the adrenaline finished its run and then I suddenly dropped and fell into bed at 3:15AM.

Does this outdo the original armedwithjello story? I'm not sure, but perhaps it matches it.

Last night I came into Newmarket for the Crew Christmas party. I managed to avoid most of the snowstorm and didn't get in any trouble driving. I also made several stops along the way and completed the Christmas shopping for Mom. Tomorrow's task is Christmas shopping for Ellen and Brian and attempting to not spend any more money on Gilly, on whom I have spent thrice what I originally budgeted.

Tonight I took the bus downtown to go to a new Meetup group about documentaries. We went to a sports bar and saw a film about the life of Jesus, projected on the screen normally used for showing hockey games. Before the film started we got into discussing alternative medicine, and one woman said her shoulder and neck are constantly painful and nthing has been able to really help her. I offered to give it a try, and she accepted, not sure what to expect. I rested my arms on her shoulders and let the weight drag them down for a couple of minutes, and she was amazed by the relaxation brought on by that simple action. I then gave her a brief massage, and she said she felt 1000% better afterward. The guy sitting beside her, Kevin, piped up "I'll be next!" I told him he'd have to buy me dinner first, and he offered to buy my next drink I accepted, the movie started when I finished the first massage so I had to stop.

The film was good, although not a patch on "Jesus: The Complete Story". At the end we had a discussion about our views of Christ, and they found it really funny when I compared him to a hippie. Somebody mentioned that certain people are God-like in their ability to reach and inspire the masses, and I said it's not so important to reach the masses as it is to be altruistic in your daily life. I asked if I miraculously healed the woman I'd massaged, and they laughed and said I did. As we concluded the discussion the girl beside me asked for a massage for her stiff neck, so I obliged. She collapsed in my hands shortly after I began, then jumped up and gave me a huge hug and told me how awesome I am. Meanwhile, Kevin saw me giving her the massage and asked what happened to the deal he made with me. When I finished with the girl, I turned around and placed a chair behind Kevin, who was chatting with someone else. He stepped aside, not understanding that I wanted him to sit. After several tries I actually TOLD him to sit, and he excitedly tore off his jacket. Meanwhile, the rest of the group left the bar, and I joked about turning the place into a massage parlour.

He enjoyed his massage and offered me whatever I wanted, so I asked for one in return. I normally don't do that as most people give crappy massages and don't take instruction well, but to my delight he did a decent job and listened to my suggestions. I gave him a big hug and we left together. He indicated he would like to see me again, and I told him to e-mail me from the web site and we'd see if we could get together sometime while I'm here. Huzzah! Another man smitten by my super powers!

I took the subway and bus home, and back in Newmarket I stepped out into the harsh wind at the locked, deserted bus station. The girl that had been seated across from me on the bus pulled out her cell phone to call a cab, and I offered her a ride as I didn't want her to freeze. She appily hung up on the dispatcher and hopped into the van. We had a pleasant chat as a I took her home, halfway across town in the opposite direction to my own destination, but I felt good for having helped another stranger. All in all it has been a really great evening.

Does it still count as altruism if I derive this much pleasure from performing random acts of kindness?

I went to Gilly's band concert this afternoon. I got up from my pew to talk to Gilly right before the show started, and when I returned, I discovered Sandy and Theresa (that bought our house) sitting in the pew behind me. I was surprised to see them, said hi, and the both turned their backs on me and snubbed me!

I have no idea what's going on, I can only figure Mom said enough nasty stuff about me that they think I'm horrible. I tried several times to talk to them and they both ignored me. Theresa never said a word to me, and Sandy said the bare minimum. Gilly spoke to him at intermission and got a slightly less cold response. I was really hurt. Last time I saw them was a couple of years ago in the grocery store, and they were friendly then. It has to be related to their spending some time with Mom.

When Gilly approached Sandy to say hi, he looked her in the eye and said hi back. Later she asked him (while I was in the washroom) about the foot-shaped garden stones in the back yard, and he said "ummm... I don't think they exist any more." I did get a little bit out of Sandy, when I asked him about renovations. He said the house has been gutted, kitchen and all ripped out, and they'll take the drywall down soon. He plans to replace the roof in the spring, and when I said it's only a year old he said he's taking the wood part of the roof off as well. Basically, he's keeping the bricks and mortar. It's his right to do it, but combined with the cold shoulder it made me feel sad to hear it.

Part of me wants to call Mom and tell her what happened and see what she says, but most of me doesn't want to hear her response because I know it will only be vicious. I'm glad I have an appointment with my social worker tomorrow night and can talk about this with him. When the phone rang long-distance tonight I called out "Not It!" I checked the Caller ID and it wasn't Mom, it was my friend Jenn, who I was really glad to hear from and talk with. She's coming home from Quebec for Christmas and we're making plans to hang out together lots while she's here.

Last week Gilly and I visited Mom. We drove up separately so I could stay for a few days. I got all the way to Highway 400 and Major Mackenzie, and was doing fine. Then suddenly I was spinning across three lanes. I did 4 or 5 complete turns, finally got some control back and just clipped my back corner on the outer concrete barrier. When I finally found a wide enough shoulder to pull over and swallow my heart, I checked for damage and was pleased to find only a small crack in the corner of the bumper and the edge of the tail light was broken. I had a mechanic look it over and I needed no repairs. Huzzah! Interestingly, the panic of nearly dying was not nearly as intense as a purely emotional panic attack. Odd.

We took Mom out for dinner at Timothy's Steakhouse on Sunday night, to celebrate her 60th birthday. It was a great meal, and we had more food than we could finish. I saw cherries jubilee on the dessert menu and got all excited. Mom asked what it was, and I said "Cherries! ON FIRE!" She was still confused but agreed to try it as she loves cherries. The waiter brought over a gas burner on a cart, put in lots of butter and brown sugar, orange, lemon, cherries, and brandy, and set it on fire. He scooped it over dishes of ice cream, and another server came over and put a candle in Mom's dessert and we sang to her. We were all thoroughly impressed with the delicious goo. Mom was blown away by it and basically said it was the best dessert ever. And it was.

Gilly decided not to come home Sunday night due to the freezing rain and her one headlight being out. We stayed at Mom's place so Gilly could park underground. I protested, mainly because I was nervous about spending the night with Mom, but Gilly didn't catch on. Oh, well. The living room was packed solid with furniture and garbage, which had to be cleared in order to pull the bed out of the couch. Gilly and I spent ages rearranging things, sorting the floor junk into garbage, recycling, and papers for Mom to sort somehow. We finally got it clean enough to open the bed, and we crashed. The kitchen, hallway, and bathroom are still terrible, but we could handle no more, nor should we. Mom was grateful for the help, and we had a pleasant night and morning. Gilly and I took our cars to the mechanic for our respective problems, and went for breakfast before Gilly headed off to work.

That night I went out for dinner with the singles' club, which due to the weather had only 5 people show up out of 9 expected. Still, it was a great success because it was a major blizzard outside, and those of us who decided to drive in it were insane. We had a great time and even enjoyed digging our cars out of the 7 inches of snow that had fallen in the three hours we were in the restaurant. Driving home was surprisingly pleasant, as there was almost no traffic on the road and the fresh snow had provided traction on the icy surfaces. When I got to Ellen's, I wanted to take Max out for a walk, but he was asleep under the bed.

I visited Mom again on Wednesday and replaced all her light bulbs with the fluorescent ones she'd bought. Her place looks a lot brighter now. We had a nice chat and I asked her if she was getting a cleaning lady in. She said Jeannie from church was going to help her, and I was relieved. Hopefully they can make the kitchen and bathroom sanitary. The bathroom makes me want to wretch when I see it.

Mom also told me that when she told her psychologist about her dopiness and "suspended animation", and also that she feels incredibly guilty that she still hasn't cried over losing Dad. The psych encouraged her to speak to her psychiatrist and family doctor, and the psychologist herself also spoke to the psychiatrist.As a result, they are going to start reducing her psychiatric medications starting this week and see if they can allow her to feel emotions without totally losing control. Also, the bladder medication she has been on for a year has somehow been interfering with her psychiatric drugs, and the urologist finally told Mom to stop taking them as they weren't working any way. The urologist's latest plan to try to reduce my mother's incontinence is to inject Botox into her bladder. I guess the idea is that it will stop the constant bladder spasms and let it relax and hold more. Mom's excited about the prospect of a new treatment, and I really hope it actually helps this time.

I came home on Thursday night and went to the bellydance class Christmas party. We went to Masala Bay Indian restaurant and stuffed ourselves with the most fantastic feast. On Friday night we ushered at a local community theatre, and I discovered that the house manager is a hot young Asian guy with a naked finger. I'm glad I signed up for more volunteer shifts there. Other people sign up for the free access to shows. Me, I'm in it for the eye candy.

On Saturday Gilly and I went to the Christkindl market at city hall. We had excellent pulled pork sandwiches, and got drunk on hot mulled wine and brandy. Gilly was drunk after only a few sips! We wandered around and sampled honeys and mustards and tried on hats and played with toys. There were lots of model train displays and plenty of music and dancing. We came home with some cinnamon honey butter and an assortment of smoked fish. Still mildly drunk, we both passed out for an hour until I woke and realised it was almost time to leave for my choir Christmas party. Too many parties!

The choir party was fun and casual. I got to know some of the choir members and we brainstormed about concert theme ideas and stuff. Alf showed off his Jack Russell's silly party tricks and we got a kick out of it. It was an enjoyable party, and we left with a big pile of desserts to donate to the dessert table at today's band concert during intermission. Waste not, want not! We also came away with this fabulous cracker dip made of a layer of cream cheese topped with a layer of PC cranberry-orange sauce that had been laced with cayenne pepper. <DROOL> Perhaps I'll have a snack before bed, now that my medication has had a chance to work itself through my system!

Speaking of working through your system... A recent conversation with an anonymous person:

X: I think caffiene may be causing me to have explosive diarrhea.

Me: Oh really? Ew.

X: Yeah. I've noticed that it happens a lot mid-morning after I've had my cup of tea. But not every morning. I'm going to try avoiding caffiene for a while and see if it helps.

Me: How have your bowel movements been in the last few days?

X: All over the place.

Me: ... <insane laughter>

X: Oh! HAHAHA! No, I didn't mean that! ...Please don't blog this!

I just don't get it.

Gilly and I were getting along just fine tonight. We went to bellydance, we came home and made dinner, we took the recycling down, we watched a couple hours of TV. I put up the remaining Christmas lights, and started thinking aloud about what needed to be done before our weekend guests start arriving tomorrow. This was more a list of things I needed to get done than things we both needed to do, and Gilly easily agreed that we needed to get rid of the camping gear from the living room. So we got to the end of ER, I started gathering the stuff that needed to go into storage, and I dug through my purse to find the new lock from the matching set I got for the two lockers so we only need one key to open either one. Gilly came in and said she needed a shower so we'd better go, so we went. All was fine and dandy as far as I could tell.

We got to the main floor and dragged our stuff to the end of the corridor. I told Gilly I was going to run down to my car and grab the propane tank that has been rolling around in my back seat for a week in a questionably safe manner.

"Fine," Gilly said, "I don't really give a shit." Uhhhh... Did I miss something? I made no comment in reply and just went to the garage.

When I returned, Gilly was standing by the locker, and I placed the propane cylinder and Zazu's cat cage on the floor and turned away to put a box of model aircraft stuff into the other locker. Gilly got snarky with me again and I didn't say anything. Then she made one more snap at me, and I called her on it. I told her I didn't know why she's mad at me but to cut it out because it's unnecessary. So the red-faced yelling began, Gilly defensively telling me I was the one being bitchy and that I should just shut up and leave her alone. Seriously, there's only so many times I can ignore the abuse, and I think I have every right to tell her to shove it when she just gets crazy for no reason. We exchanged some words in the lobby, and as the elevator door opened some guy stepped off and Gilly shouted at me, "See you upstairs, BITCH!" The guy looked totally bewildered. I just went off to check the mail.

I came upstairs, tossed Gilly's mail on her chair and retreated to my room. Gilly was getting into the shower and we didn't say anything to each other. When she got out she read her mail and got all happy and chirpy that she got her confirmation letter from the student loans office saying they'd received her big payment. So then she was bouncing around again, and went off to bed.

I really, really don't get it. It's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and I can't predict when the switch is going to flip and she's going to freak on me for something. Last week I asked her to go see my social worker with me, and initially she made no response, and then at the last minute she refused and flew into a rage. Eventually I got her to go with me, and what it all came down to is that she resents me for moving into "her" space, despite the fact that she sort of invited me and my moving in has cut her rent and utilities in half. She makes no apologies for resenting my presence, and when I tell her it's like living with Mom all over again, she just won't acknowledge it. I need her support and if she'd just start dealing with her own shit, I'd be happy to offer her my support as well. None of this has been easy on either of us, and we need to stick together. It's making it worse that my usual form of therapy (my blog) is not a viable option with the Gilly issues as she reads it and gets angry if I mention our fights. However, I need to release the pressure somewhere, and if it can't be done through direct and effective communication with her it's going to have to be here. I feel like my head is going to explode.

Christmas is going to be really hard, and I'm already feeling the sadness creeping back in on me. I keep getting teary thinking about Dad, thinking about Zazu, thinking about how I'd like to have a relationship with my mom but she's on the warpath again. Last week she phoned and Gilly answered, and Mom went on a tirade about her scooter stopping and how awful we are for having taken her driver's licence away. Mom's birthday is on Sunday, and Gilly and I have decided to go to Newmarket for the afternoon and take her to dinner, but neither one of us is particularly looking forward to it. Mom even said she would only be "playing happy families" for Christmas because she still hates us. Honestly, I'd rather just not see her at all for Christmas than have her lay on the guilt trips again. If (when) she does that, I'll have to just walk out and go to Ellen's, because I'm not dealing with that shit.

I see the psychiatrist again next week, and I suspect he'll be upping my medication again because I've been getting weepy and panicky again. Last week I ran out of choir practice early, crying because a number of things related and unrelated to choir itself built up in my head and I just choked up and burst into tears. I called in sick to choir this week as I had been extra ridiculously tired and feeling generally unwell all day, but when choir time came I felt fine. I'm thinking my sick feeling might have been a stress response of fear that I might panic at practice again. I'm hoping I'm OK at tomorrow's dress rehearsal and at the concert on Saturday.

In happier news, I spent the last couple of days in Toronto. I saw the neurologist yesterday, spelled out my situation to him with CPP wanting my sleep disorder to be treated before they approve me, and he said he can't do anything until positive test results show up, even though he believes I do have narcolepsy. Argh. That's the short version, and there's not much more to say about the half hour or so I spent with him, tying to get him to do something to help me.

In the afternoon I went to Scarborough and saw August Rush, which was a pretty good movie. It was strange seeing evil Henry VIII as the sexy centre of a love story, and Robin Williams with lots of earrings. It's the first movie I've seen in a long time that doesn't contain any swearing, although it's not a children's movie.

After the movie I met Luc at Jack Astor's and we stuffed ourselves with pan bread. Mitun showed up late after a long ordeal in traffic, and we all went to Luc's place to hang out for the evening. Luc worked on Gilly's computer, Mitun fed us bits of satay chicken, and we made cheesecake. One of us, who shall remain nameless, had exceptionally large and smelly farts all night, which were the kind that were so bad they were actually enjoyable by those present. It led to a discussion about Dutch oven cooking. I stayed in the spare bedroom for the night and I listened to the crazy laughter of the two loons in the other bedroom as I fell asleep.

Today I went back to Sunnybrook for an appointment with a dietitian, which went well. I decided to take a walk for a while before heading home, so I wandered around for a while, holding my hat on in the fierce wind and covering my face from the swirling debris that attacked me from all angles. I ended up taking shelter in Seduction, where I saw a 3400 mL jug of lubricant. Jebus! I can't imagine why anyone would need that much lube!

Well, I'm pooped. Time for bed.

I woke this morning to Teffy walking up and down the side of my bed, purring away and wanted me to pet her. She's been doing that a lot this past week. She's finally getting friendly in Zazu's absence.

As I stroked her, I thought about Zazu's limp little body from last night and missed him. My next thought was making a mental list of what I had to do today, and oddly, the first thing that came to mind was fitting in time to visit Zazu in the cat hospital before going to Newmarket. Then I remembered that wasn't going to happen today, or ever again. I miss him so much.

I neglected to mention another of my mother's barbs from last night. When I told her I got approved for disability, she kept saying "You? They gave you disability?" She truly does not have any understanding of the damage she has caused me or the suffering I experience.

I wanted to go to church tomorrow while we are in town, but now I think I'll avoid it because I just can't stand to see the evil bitch right now.

Today has been such a rollercoaster. I know I say that all the time lately, but it's no exaggeration.

I woke to the phone ringing. It was an adjudicator from the ODSP office. He apologised for their office having screwed me around so much on my application, and told me he approved me for two years. I'll get my back pay sometime within the next couple of weeks.

Elated, I called Gilly, Austin, Luc, and Dorian to relay the news. I tried Mom a bunch of times, but kept getting her answering machine. Her cell phone was turned off all day. I went out and bought a $6 bottle of Spumonte Bambino to take to Kim and Terry's party tonight to celebrate.

When I called the vet to find out when to visit Zazu, the receptionist told me Dr. Bonnie needed to speak with me. I made the earliest possible appointment, 3:40PM. I was concerned but figured if it was really bad she probaby would have phoned me herself. I caled Gilly and let her know about the appointment, but she figured she'd be at work.

Fortunately, Gilly was released from work early today after having gotten ahead on a big project. She met me at the cat hospital and Andrea took Zazu into an examination room for us to visit with him. He was still very groggy and weak, confused and clearly dizzy. He kept turning his head rapidly from side to side as if the room was spinning around him. He was panting and crying, a cry unlike anything we'd ever heard from him before; it sounded very similar to a siren. We knew this wasn't good. Dr. Bonnie came in and said she had intended to call us herself but didn't manage to before I called in this morning. She ran blood tests on Zazu late last night and they indicated that both kidneys had stopped functioning and his liver was also shutting down. She said she was surprised he was alive when she walked in this morning, he was doing so badly. She gave us some time alone with him and said we could decide whether to take him home and let him die naturally or have him put down, or take him home for a night and then put him down tomorrow or something. She said she was so sorry there was nothing else she could do for him, and I thanked her for trying so hard. We all knew there was no saving him any more. At least, she said, he was so delirious at that poin that se didn't think he was in pain any more.

We cuddled Zazu and cried a lot. A LOT. He kept trying to get up but turned in a circle and fell over, then cried some more. I picked him up an stood by the window, and he quieted down when he looked outside. I asked if we could take him outside, and we were told that would be alright. We went to the patch of grass between the cat hospital and the building beside it, and I sat down on the edge of the shade and sunlight to give him the choice of where to sit. He immediately scrambled out of my lap, wobbled and lurched and stumbled in a circle and fell down. He cried again and breathed heavily. He shuffled around awkwardly for a minute and then settled in the grass with his face toward the sun. He continued to cry and we petted him and cried some more, talked to him and told him we loved him. Every few minutes he would get up and try to stumble toward the road, but he kept ending up stumbling in a circle and falling. Eventually he made it to the side of the building and looked up at the brick step lining the front garde. He actually jumped, taking three tries. I kept trying to just grab him and lift him up, but he was determined to jump it. He got three feet on the edge and missed with the last one and fell. I lifted him up and he scrambled under a thorny bush, got a bit stuck there and cried again. I left him there and petted him for a few seconds, then picked him up and sat on the ledge. Gilly and I each took a turn holding him, and he quieted while we did so.

Eventually we felt cold and decided we had to go back inside. Another cat was in the examination room so we sat on the couches and cuddled him some more. I let Dr. Bonnie know we were ready when she was, and soon after we went into the room.

Zazu's breathing was very laboured by this time, and Dr. Bonnie said he might even die within the next ten minutes if we waited. However, he would be struggling a lot with his breathing and it would be distressing, so we said we wanted to let him go peacefully. Dr. Bonnie had the needles ready in her pocket. She gave us the choice to stay or go, and we both wanted to stay. The first needle made him sleepy, although it was hard to tell because he was so limp to begin with. The second needle was the euthanasia, and we stroked and kissed and talked to him for a couple of minutes until he was gone. As Dr. Bonnie listened to hs heart and told us it was slowing, she assured us he wasn't in pain and he was very peaceful. We told her about our experience with Dad's passing, and talked about the nightly ritual of Zazu stealing Dad's kitchen chair every time he got up from the table during dinner. Zazu just laid there staring off into space, finally stopping breathing and otherwise not visibly different. Eventually Dr. Bonnie told us his heart had stopped, and he was really gone.

Dr. Bonnie left us alone and we stayed for a few minutes afterward saying our goodbyes. It was surreal leaving the cat hospital without Zazu, knowing we would never hug him again or hear his happy little "gerbil noise". I can only hope that right now he's happily curled up in Dad's lap, purring away and waiting for an opportunity for dad to get up so he can steal his chair again.

We had been trying to phone Mom the whole time we were with Zazu, but she just wasn't available. She phoned us back as soon as we got home, and I told her he was gone. She told me to let her know how much the vet bill is and she'll pay it. I have no idea what it will be. Dr. Bonnie said she'd take care of the cremation arrangements for us and get the ashes back in case we want them. I wasn't interested in asking about prices or anything, and I'll settle up the bill sometime next week when I return the unopened case of prescription food I bought a couple of weeks ago.

Mom then turned into the psycho bitch I'm familiar with, and unfortunately in my vulnerable state I got drawn right into it. She told me not to visit tomorrow because the unwelcome relatives would be visiting. I said we didn't have much time in town this weekend, and she told me to visit early morning instead. She leapt right into "They don't shit on everything I say." Never mind the fact that we had some very nice visits last weekend. I yelled at her for a minute, and she seemed to enjoy the reaction she was getting. I suddenly became aware of it, and I cut myself off mid-sentence and said, "I don't want to talk you you right now." I hung up on her. I don't want to see her either. I do want to go to church while I'm in town this weekend, but since it will mean seeing her I don't think I can do it. I just can't handle her bullshit right now. All she sees is an opportunity to hurt me more, rather than an opportunity to support me in another difficult time. It's nothing new, but I had let my guard down since she was civil before. Now I feel stupid for having let her get to me again, and incredibly hurt that my own mother could have so much venom in her to have unconditional hatred for me.

Oddly, Gilly and I both still felt like going to Kim and Terry's, although I didn't feel like dressing up so I went in the clothes I was wearing. We had a good time anyway and I made a toast to Zazu when we opened the wine. I will be happy to see Austin this weekend. I don't think I'll get to see Ellen and Brian as I think they're out of town. Whatever friends I can see this weekend, I would like to because I really need it right now.

I'm happy to report Zazu has come through the surgery. Today the vet apologised for not phoning me last night. She said she finished the surgery shortly after midnight and thought that if she called that late it might freak us out, thinking something bad had happened. Anyway, Zazu is now peeing unassisted for the first time in a week. He's on a pain patch and is stoned out of his gourd. He's wearing a collar and has bitter stuff on his stitches to keep him from licking it. When i visited this afternoon, Dr. Bonnie asked me to try to feed him, but it was no good. Anything I put in his mouth, he spat out. I'm hoping when he's a bit less stoned he'll start eating again. She said he was eating well until right before the surgery, so she expects he'll be alright. He's not out of the woods yet, but he's through surgery and that's a big step.

Tonight Gilly and I got pizza from the place next door and ate it in the apartment building's lobby. I was dressed as Columbia from Rocky Horror Picture Show and Gilly was dressed as a bee. I grabbed a bag of silly hats and antlers and wigs and stuff from the Tickle Trunk and dressed up all the old people that were sitting in the lobby waiting for kids to come. We had a great time joking around, taking silly pictures, and eating candy. Somebody brought out dog cookies, which was good because we had more dogs than kids show up. Jeff, the superintendent, was determined not to dress up, but I chased him down the hallway in my 4-inch bitch boots and later snuck up on him and put a furry pimp hat on him. Theresa was ready and waiting with the camera, and all was well. When everyone decided to call it a night, I filled a bag with candy and will take it to Kim and Terry's Halloween party on Friday night.

When we got upstairs Gilly and I decided to watch a scary movie. Nothing very good was on TV, so I said we should rent a Saw movie. Gilly had only seen the first one, and I had seen the first two. Gilly wanted me to go out on my own and get it, but I convinced her to run across the road with me to the convenience store to pick it up. We wore silly hats for this trip as we had already removed our costumes.

We rented Saw 2, made tea and sat down to enjoy our movie. It was fun. It ended about midnight, and thus began our first major "spousal" argument since moving in together.

We have not done dishes in nearly a week. Actually, I have not done dishes in nearly a week. Gilly hasn't done them in two weeks. Last week was so busy I ended up doing all the dishes by myself on Friday, along with packing for camp, cleaning the bathroom, changing the litter box, going to the vet, and doing laundry. When Gilly got home I said I wanted the dinner dishes washed and the garbage emptied before we left as it was full of raw meat scraps, but neither of those got done.

On Sunday night we looked after the immediate post-camp needs and decided to leave unloading the car for another day. On Monday, Gilly had band, so I didn't do dishes as I was waiting for her to be available to help. On Tuesday I had choir. Today I had to take Teffy to the vet, visit Zazu and try to get him to eat, go to my anxiety management group, and go to the aesthetics school. Now, a morning at the spa sounds like just a pampering, but this was more like a medical treatment. My face has been covered in blackheads for a couple of weeks and I finally found the time to get them extracted and treated. My back was sore from camp and from lifting boxes of magazines for a guy that came to look for one in my dad's collection yesterday, so I got a massage as well. So yes, it was relaxing, but it was also very necessary and long overdue. I still have a list of things I need to get done tomorrow while Gilly's at work, that I didn't have time to do today.

So it's been a busy week, and aside from doing some cleaning in the living room I haven't managed to accomplish much between my own doctors' appointments and taking both cats to the vet, and calling the bank and lawyer to try to figure out what the hell my mom is talking about this week. I haven't had a chance to start my appeal letter for CPP or follow up with the MPP's office about my ODSP questions. I got my quote for camera repairs in the mail two days ago, and yesterday I finally got it filled out and in the envelope for warranty application but have not yet found an opportunity to mail it.

The garbage still hadn't been changed yesterday nor the cat box scooped, so I asked Gilly and she did those things. I took a load of recycling down yesterday. I spent a good chunk of yesterday trying to put things away in the living room. I had supper ready for Gilly when she came home from work.

So tonight the movie ended at midnight and I said we needed to do some, but not necessarily all, of the dishes. Gilly moaned about it, saying she was too tired. The dish pile is at critical mass point, where the pile is threatening to fall off the counter and smash on the floor. It's covering all countertops, one side of the sink, and the top of the stove, plus a few dishes in the living room. I started running th water and said we'd do 10 minutes of washing before bed.

Apparently this plan was unreasonable. Gilly flew into a rage, saying she just had to get to bed. When I pointed out that she goes to bed around 1AM every night anyway, she got ridiculously defensive and started hurling harpoons at me. Well, not literal harpoons, but she was doing her damndest to make me look evil. I felt like I was fighting with Mom.

Gilly accused me of forcing her to do chores at inappropriate times and of nagging her to get things done. I said she could do them whenever she wanted, but in the quarter of a year we have now lived together she has only once done dishes without me asking her to do so. Then the accusation turned to me always requiring her to do dishes with me, rather than letting her do them alone. Well, I always figured it was better to ask for assistance to do the dishes than it was to demand she do them all herself, but honestly I would be happy if she decided to take the initiative and do them when I'm not around. I've done that a few times, but stopped doing it when I started to feel like Gilly's maid. I mentioned that there's plenty of opportunity to do dishes without me around, or she could just tell me she wanted to do the dishes alone and I'd be just fine with that. Tonight, even if I'd wanted to I couldn't have done the dishes myself as I ripped half my thumbnail off in a freak potato peeler accident a couple of days ago and my thumb has to stay dry and bandaged for a while. I was employing my usual tactic of proposing we tackle a large task together, with her washing and me drying. I don't see why this had to turn into a huge argument.

I will go away for several days, and upon returning the apartment looks the same or worse than it did when I left. The couch is still covered in random stuff, the carpet isn't vacuumed, the dishes are still piled up, pizza box on the counter, cat water fountain near empty and dirty, old krusty cat bowls on the counter, recycling and garbage full, bathroom not cleaned, laundry piled high. Tonight Gilly told me she got the housework done before I moved in with her, but every time I visited her kitchen was a disaster area, I filled the garbage can with the garbage I picked up from the living room, and the bathroom hadn't been cleaned. When Gilly left her old apartment she told me she had never cleaned her bathroom in the eleven months she'd lived there. Since I moved here three months ago I've done the bathroom four times, which I think is far below the number of times I would like to find time to clean it.

So my problem is quality of living. I've come from years of living in my mother's filth, her shit and piss and garbage and old food and dirty laundry. I didn't try to clean up after her much because it was futile. Having moved out I would like to prevent living in a situation like that again, and the only way to do so is to keep up the housework on a regular basis. However, this apartment is inhabited by two adults who are equally able to do the housework and approximately equally busy. Gilly seems to think my days are spent sitting around picking my nose, but in reality I spend my days running around to appointments and trying to do as much as I can before I conk out. Yes, some days I can't get out of bed, but most days that's not the case. Regardless of this, Gilly still shot at me, "I'm at work all day and you're at home."

Now, I don't mind being in charge of bathroom cleaning and doing a little more on the housework side because I do have slightly more time. I cook the meals when I have time and energy to do so, and I stay on top of grocery shopping and car maintenance and stuff. BUT, I am not Gilly's maid. When I first moved in here I was telling Ellen what I did all that week, and she pointed out that I was falling into the same pattern I was with my mother - just doing things for her instead of getting her to be responsible for her own shit. When I said I did laundry for both me and Gilly, she asked why I would do that when Gilly should be doing her own laundry. I told her about my telling Gilly I wanted the bathroom cleaned before each party, and Gilly pooh-poohing it, and Ellen later told Gilly straight-out that she thought it was important to clean the bathroom for guests coming, even if it never happened any other time. Every time I mention housework around Ellen, she reminds me to draw lines, and I get frustrated trying to figure out how to draw lines but still make sure I don't end up living in squalor again because Gilly has low standards of cleanliness. I'm trying to break the pattern I've been living in my whole life, but whenever i express this to Gilly, she just doesn't see her part in the pattern. It's like we need marriage counselling, but Gilly would rather just pretend I'm the whole problem. Ellen says it's learned behaviour, and as I write this I see it - My mom was always willing to go for counselling, even though she had issues with understanding things properly, and my dad just wanted to pretend their dysfunctional marriage was all Mom's fault and not bother even attempting communication with her.

If Gilly steps up and does some housework without me asking, I won't be asking her to do housework so much. Pretty simple, isn't it? When I've previously tried to tell her this she tries to turn it around on me and say that if I stopped asking her to do housework she would do it, but when I repeatedly go away for days or even go out for a whole evening and Gilly's home alone, nothing at all is done. I start nagging at what I call "critical mass", when I can no longer tolerate the living conditions as they are. Unfortunately we seem to reach critical mass about three times monthly.
That's not at all cool, and this needs to change.

This entry is not a Gilly-bashing entry. It's getting things off my
chest that I have been unable to tell Gilly in a way that she would
hear me. I needed to go to bed over an hour ago, but before I could
sleep I needed to get this stuff out of me because it's really
bothering me. I really hope Gilly sees it for what it is, considers
my point of view and meets me in the middle.

Right now Gilly and I are faced with another very hard decision regarding Zazu. He's passing a whole lot of kidney stones now, and the vet says tomorrow we either have to do surgery or put him down. The surgery involves cutting off his penis and essentially giving him female genitals, shortening and widening his urethra so the stones don't get stuck on the way out. Right now they have to insert a needle to drain his bladder because when they put in catheters, he pulls then out. The vet even tried stitching the tube in and gluing over the stitches, and he STILL ripped it out. He's still very lively, cuddly, and purry when we go in to see him. He keeps trying to run away when we open his cage.

The trouble is, he has a heart murmur and may not be able to survive the surgery. He would also be very susceptible to bladder infections for the rest of his life, and they could be life-threatening. The vet says he could live a couple of weeks or a couple of years, and there's no way to know. We have to decide by the morning, and we just don't know what to do. It's so hard to let him go so soon after losing Dad. We're both leaning toward surgery, but won't make the call until the morning.

I really need to find the time to blog more often. I frequently think "I need to blog this" but then never get around to it.

Zazu came home on Thanksgiving Monday, and he's been doing really well. However, he stopped eating a few days ago. I have given him four kinds of food, and he refuses it all, although he's drinking and will eat treats. He also seems happy enough, playing normally and allowing us to hug him so he's not in pain. I took him to the vet this afternoon and she's keeping him in over the weekend. She thinks he has a kidney infection since his immune system is so compromised, and he's a bit dehydrated. She's going to run some tests, give antibiotics and fluids and hopefully we can have him back on Sunday. She had originally said she'd keep him for one night, but since we're going camping this weekend she asked if she could keep an eye on him for us. I think that's a good idea.

Thanksgiving itself was pretty good. At the last minute, Mom decided to allow us to bring dinner in and eat at the house. We cooked the roast beef at Austin's house and transported everything to Mom's. I made Yorkshire puddings and onion gravy and lots of veggies I had been planning to toast to Dad, and mom surprised me by beating me to it as soon as I poured her a glass of sherry. We had a pleasant enough conversation, and the whole evening Mom only made one nasty remark to me and I just ignored it. Once everything was cleaned up and we'd sat around and had a chat, we took Mom's van over to the mechanic's shop to have him look at it the next day. The van had been making these awful noises and was very stiff to steer, but since Grampa had told her it was just fine, she hadn't let us taken it to the shop earlier. That weekend we had driven the van and found it almost impossible to drive as the wheel would barely turn. It turned out Gilly and I were right. It cost $3500 to fix everything.

Speaking of driving, I was visiting Mom a few days ago and she told me she's angry at the family doctor because he refused to sign the forms for the MTO saying she's OK to drive. She still hasn't made the connection that he's the one that wrote her up in the first place. I'm not touching it with a hundred-foot pole. If I told her the truth, Dorian would likely be outed as well, and Mom would just say that I'd brainwashed Dorian and the doctor. I just changed the subject.

I spent a total of about five hours with Mom last weekend, in three different chunks.She was very nice and didn't say anything even remotely nasty. She was disappointed when she made the assumption I was spending the night with her at her new place, and I told her I was staying at Ellen's. I thanked her for the invitation and said when she's unpacked and settled maybe Gilly and I would visit overnight sometime. There's no way I'm spending the night alone with her. She could turn at any moment.

Mom sent Gilly a cheque for $28000 to pay off her student loan and car loan. Gilly was amazed that Mom actually did it. I wasn't surprised. I'm pleased for Gilly, and it also takes a bit of pressure off me because if my finances get a whole lot worse, I'm not going to cause Gilly to go into the poorhouse. Not that I have any intention whatsoever of having her support me financially, but just in case the worst were to happen (knock wood) there's still wiggle room. The other night Mom asked me out of the blue what I'm living on. I said nothing, that my EI has run out, I'm waiting to be paid for the election (I got paid today), and beyond that there is zero income coming my way. I didn't tell her I'm about to apply for welfare, as it would just give her an angle of attack. That was the extent of our conversation about money. I didn't whine about my situation or mention my debt, but Mom was quiet for a minute after that as if perhaps she was considering something. I'll be shocked to shit if she actually gave me money, but if she did I'd certainly thank her for it. I'm not holding my breath, though. I do get the impression she's lonely now that she's in a building where she doesn't know the neighbours. She hasn't phoned us at all since the move last week. We only got invited to her new place when we showed up at church just for the sake of going to church while we were in town. We had to leave right after the service as we had opera tickets and had to be downtown shortly, and Mom seemed genuinely disappointed that we didn't go visit with her. I dropped in on her late that evening, when I got back from the city.

Her new condo is nice, although it's a mess already and stinks from the cat litter. She's getting it repainted; yellow kitchen, mauve living room, peach bedroom. Her furniture layout plan is weird, but hey, it's her place so I don't really care. Apparently one 53" TV isn't enough for one person living alone. She bought herself a 27" LCD TV for the bedroom. When I said "Oh, it's an LCD TV," she asked if that was bad. I said no, it's a nice TV, and perhaps she should get it mounted on the wall so she doesn't knock it off the dresser. She also bought another cell phone, because she heard a lady's phone ring "meow meow meow". She went into a store and asked for a Rogers phone that goes "meow meow meow", and she got a "free" phone with a 3-year contract. She handed it to me and asked how it worked, and how to make it go "meow meow meow". Argh. The following night we went to a Rogers store with the contract as we couldn't find the receipt, and we spent ages looking for the stuff that came in the box with the phone as she'd thrown it all over the place, in multiple rooms. The Rogers guy noticed that the contract said "The Source" at the top, and Mom said she thought Rogers and the Source were the same thing. We had to drive across town and had the Source staff wait for us after the store closed so we could sort it all out. We cancelled the contract and mom bought the phone outright for $250. The salesman said he thought it was a lot of money for a ringtone, and I laughed and said I agreed but she wouldn't rest until her phone went "meow meow meow". He had tried to convince her to just buy the phone when she'd gone in before, but Mom got all confused and then insisted on the plan. In the aftermath, it took me 3 hours to make the "meow meow meow" ringtone work because Rogers doesn't offer one on its web site and my phone can't Bluetooth a ringtone to another phone. I had to bring the phone back to Kitchener with me and use the computer to create the ringtone after seeing out the mp3 file for it, then upload via the cable. Argh!

Gilly and I have had some good laughs recently as we are both so overtired. We were doing dishes and I pointed out that we'd used loads of spoons and knives that week, but only two forks. We found this tremendously funny for some reason, and kept joking about playing "Knifey Spooney". I also mentioned that Gilly was my hobby (meaning, bugging her), and I quickly followed it up with "but not in the sex way." We both nearly peed ourselves when I said that. and since then everything we say is appended with "but not in the sex way."

Two weekends ago we went to a huge swap meet in London and sold a lot of Dad's stuff. We took in $2200 in 5 hours. I'm still getting e-mails from guys from the swap meet, asking for things they saw that they decided they want to buy after all.

Last weekend was Gilly's elementary class reunion, which she and a friend organised. I tagged along and went for lunch at Milestones with them, and fun was had by all. On Sunday we did church and the opera (The Marriage of Figaro by the COC), followed by joining the undead at the After Dark Film Festival at the Bloor Cinema. We saw a short film called Zombie Jesus, which was made in Toronto and was the funniest thing I've seen in quite some time. We're sitting there in fancy opera clothing, in a room full of zombies, laughing our asses off at "eat my body and drink my blood". I REALLY have to get a copy of that film, and I've already e-mailed the director to ask how I can get it.

As I mentioned above, Gilly and I are going camping this weekend. There's a Moot in Niagara area that we've never been to. It should be fun, and hopefully I can stay awake for some of it. Lately I've been staying up really late (3AMish) and sleeping until noon, and never really gaining consciousness. I'm going to have to get really strict with myself and try to enforce a schedule on my weary body. This nocturnal thing is not good for me!

This afternoon I took a Lorazepam and went to bed. I slept until 4PM, and called the vet's office again. They said he had no improvement. Gilly called shortly after and we decided to go visit with him and wait there until the vet could speak with us. We knew it was time to let him go, and we just had to confirm this with the vet.

She was in with another cat when we arrived, so we went in to visit Zazu. As we entered the boarding room, we noticed he was standing in his litter box, straining. When he was finished we eagerly looked, and yelped with joy when we found pee - lots of it! The nurse took the box and left him a new one, and ran to tell the vet. She said the vet smiled when she heard the news. Gilly and I hugged and petted Zazu, crying with relief. We took photos and kept telling him what a good boy he is. After being held for a while he struggled and growled in discomfort, so I put him back in the cage. He promptly jumped into the box and had another pee. This is fantastic!

Eventually the vet was able to come in and speak with us, and said that she'd push lots more fluids now and make him pee as much as possible to flush out the urea and potassium buildup. He also needs to have his potassium monitored for a while as it could dip too low, but in a day or two he'll level out and can come home.

Gilly and I are both tremendously relieved. We're not even worrying too much about the vet bills, as I asked about paying in instalments and was told something could be arranged.

Thank God for a miracle finally coming to us after all the heartbreak!