The Original Blog O' Jean

Also known, at various life stages, as Random Thought Process, RitalinJunkie, and JeanJeanie.Net.

Friday, May 26, 2000

I knew I'd end up feeling like heck if I went out last night, and I was right. I figured that since I took the morning off to get my cat a check up I'd be able to sleep in, so it wouldn't be quite so awful, but it still only amounted to about 6 hours of sleep last night, not nearly enough to make up for the 2 hours or so I managed the night before.

But was it worth it? Heck, yeah! Not only did I get to spend an hour and a half ogling Vin Diesel in all his tight-panted muscular tough-guy glory, but Terrence was there, and yes, he does indeed love me (I knew he did).

I woke up this morning to the sound of my mom's kitty's clawless little front paws trying to scratch on my door, for some reason. That cat has never liked me, and she and my cat don't exactly welcome the sight of each other, so I don't know why she wanted up there. I eventually got tired of it and went to open the door for her, at which point she simply sat and stared at me (because she is somewhat simple, as cats go), so I shooed her away and went about getting ready for my day. I still don't know what her deal was.

I took Vanilla to see the vet, where I learned that she has an infected tooth that will have to come out. She goes back this Tuesday for the operation. In the mean time, I have to orally administer antibiotics to her twice a day. I can't put it in her food, because then she simply won't eat it. Which means that I have to hold her down and force it into her. And by the way, my kitty's claws are fully intact, and boy does she know how to use them.

The drive to the vet was rainy and gray, perfectly conducive to melancholia. On the way, I passed a gas station, one I pass all the time, to which I normally don't even give a thought other than to see if there are any police cars in front ready to bust me if I don't slow down to the town's ridiculously low posted limit. This morning, however, I remembered the time my car broke down there and I had to call my dad to come and rescue me. He and my mom both came, and he did his best to fix it. I don't remember if he did, but I do remember that he was particularly pleasant to be around that afternoon, which was unusual in and of itself, and doubly so considering he had me helping him fix a car. Some of my worst memories involve helping my dad as he worked on cars. Funny that one of the few good memories I have of him involves auto repair. I actually had to fight back tears at the recollection. It still hurts sometimes, even after this long. I suppose it always will. Usually the hurt comes from remembering how much and how often he hurt me. It's somewhat comforting on the occasions when the hurt comes from missing him.

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