Little Bits of Pixie Dust

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thourougly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!!"

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

The End of the Fleas and the Start of Emotional Breakdowns

Just in case anyone was concerned, I wanted to give a little update on the flea problem at our house. We gave the babies a flea bath last night (picture two cats, both looking like little drowned rats, trying to claw their way out of the bathtub yowling like we were yanking their tails off) and to our delight we saw millions of tiny anarchists floating in the tub when we were done. However, A* went out on the back porch to get something, came back in, and had another colony of the little fuckers on his sock. Using our superb deductive reasoning skills, we decided that the outbreak of fleas was coming from the back porch, and A* sealed up the door with masking tape, vowing not to even open the door until frost has killed everything. We felt like the worst parents in the world, because every night we had been putting the cats onto the porch to try and protect them, thinking that the fleas lived inside, when really we were just sending them out to the lions den night after night. Ah well, at least we have a clean house now.
In the meantime, I have been without my medication for over a week now, and the effects are starting to be noticeable. I take Zoloft, and since I have not had it my emotional breakdowns have gotten progressively worse. Poor A*. Yesterday I yelled at him for wanting to have hot dogs for dinner, this outburst closely on the heels of the previous one for only putting $5 in the gas tank. Most of the breakdowns start with extreme yelling and frustration, followed by a quick downslide into crying. The side of my brain that is not insane knows that I am being unreasonable, and tries to talk me out of it, but the larger part of my brain that is crying out for some Zoloft ignores it and keeps on screaming. Meanwhile, any tiny little thing that goes wrong... or not even wrong, just not the way I expected it to go... makes me fly off the handle. I called my doctor and he has some samples waiting for me to pick up as soon as I leave work. I am like a recovering addict, all I can think of is those little yellow happy pills. For A*'s sake, I am going to pick them up in about an hour. I called him at work to relay the news, and he was ecstatic.
However, the next time he pisses me off, what am I going to blame it on? I'm sure that I'll find something.


Post a Comment

<< Home