My stupid, J-Pop obsessed twatfuck of a roommate locked my cat in my room last night while I was out playing Rock Band with C. Again. Which meant that she couldn’t get to her litter box, and pissed in my bed. Again.
I’m never mad at Katie (the cat; the twatfuck is J) when this happens. How can I be? It’s not her fault. She doesn’t behave that way when she has a choice.
Of course, I didn’t actually discover this until I was ready to crawl in bed at two in the morning.
And of course, I’m too perpetually poor to own more than one set of sheets at a time. And even if I could have changed them, the mattress would still have been wet.
And of course, she pissed on my side of the bed. So I had to sleep on her side of the bed, but scrunched way down in the bottom corner, so as to avoid the patina of matted cat hair that collects where she sleeps in the top corner in between sheet washings.
My room smells of cat piss.
I’m pretty good at staying semi-lucid, even while I’m asleep, to keep myself aware enough not to roll over in the cat piss in my sleep. But that makes for a poor night’s sleep.
I guess in retrospect, I could have stripped the sheets off and slept on the mattress, but you know, hindsight. 20-20.
And then this morning, around 6:30, in my semi-lucidity I heard the sound that means only one thing: I’m going to be cleaning up cat vomit soon. I kicked her out of bed in time, but she only ran over to my clean laundry basket and puked on the shorts I really wanted to wear today.
So fuck it. I just decided to go ahead and get up. Tomorrow is the start of my workweek and maybe if I get up early enough I’ll actually feel like going to bed on time. Maybe.
I’m hungry again.
I have food this time, but still I’m not doing anything about it. This is not unusual.
The list of possible side effects of Venlafaxine could have it’s own area code and telephone directory, including Anorexia. When I first started taking it, all those years ago, I looked at that one and thought, ‘What the fuck? How could an eating disorder be a side effect?’ And for a long time, the only thing the pills did to me other than blessedly calm me the fuck down, was to give me amusing little muscle twitches for the first hour or so after dosing, which were actually kind of fun.
Then I became a pothead, and I can tell the THC fucks with the Venlafaxine a little. It’s not really Anorexia Nervosa, the actual medical condition of body image issues. It’s really a complete disinclination and even repulsion to the thought of food.
I’m the only person I know that gets too skinny from smoking too much.
The hunger just sits inside me, like an abstraction. Like a Kandinsky or a Pollack; I know what it is and I have the training to appreciate it for what it is, but I don’t much like abstractions and I’d rather just let it sit there until someone who is more interested deals with it.