Saturday, October 1, 2011

It Is Finally Over

September started with a cold then continued right on being crappy as predicted. A number of minor inconveniences and problems stacked on top of three much larger tragedies starting about mid month, which lured me into a false sense of comfort. Silly me.

The first being a friend of mine's father being sick. Not like ate too many pies in one sitting sick. Cancer sick. I've been through this with one of my own parents, in a September no less, and know just how world-shattering and helpless it can make you feel. You wait endlessly on the edge of your seat surviving solely on the hope of good news. I hope they get it. My friend is a great person and if I've learned anything about great people it's that they've got great parents. I'm wholly convinced that being awesome is a genetic trait, not an acquired one.

The second tragedy was more bad news from Ohio. This time my own parent. While working, my mother fell from a beam thirteen feet or so onto her back, damaging her spine. She was rushed to the hospital because she was unable to feel her legs. She managed not to break any vertebrae and after some many hours the feeling returned to her lower extremities which was an enormous relief, but there was still substantial damage. Hopefully nothing permanent. Right now they are taking it one week at a time...

The last was the destruction of my hearing aid, as accounted in the previous entry. Leaving me once again completely deaf. The icing on the proverbial cake, if you will. Luckily I have a lot of supportive friends and family members so the devastation has been lessened a good deal simply by their existence.

In that vein, the lack of closed captioning on Netflix is a little surprising. It is sporadic at best. Some shows are not closed captioned at all. Others are closed captioned at times and not closed captioned at others. Take Torchwood for example, it's not closed captioned until nine episodes in. Why? I don't know. Netflix likes to mess with you, I guess.

Then, just to remind me that September would be back next year, my cat exploded into poop. The litter box is in the restroom, which was occupied at the time by someone else. A human, meaning the door was shut. Which meant Neelix could not get in. He sat patiently outside the door, like he normally does, waiting his turn. Therefor I really thought nothing of it. I had completely forgotten that earlier in the day he had insisted on devouring an entire Lily leaf despite all of my attempts to stop him.

Knock, knock. I have to poop.
So when he wandered into the office and starting making terribly screaming sounds that even I could hear, I immediately knew something bad was happening. I turned around and he was kind of hunched near Aaron's desk looking pitiful. I thought, "Aw, he must really have to go!" I figured I would just gently usher him towards the bathroom and open the door, apologizing to the occupant on behalf of the cat's need to get in. We did not make it more than two feet before the cat cried out again, turned twenty degrees with his back end pointed away from me, and EXPLODED into diarrhea. Right on the floor. Keep in mind my cat craps like a man under normal circumstances and, yeah, pretty shitty situation (pun completely intended).

As if that were not bad enough, we had company coming over in less than thirty minutes. I had to forgo taking a nice relaxing shower to instead clean up feces. Yaaaay. Thinking back, I should have saved, "the icing on the cake" for this event. Oh well.

Screw you, September.

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