When I started at the fertility clinic, I had very nice stats for a 38-year-old - low FSH, high antral follicle count, possible luteal phase defect (relatively easily correctible). Now, a year later, as I’m finally getting to do my first IVF cycle (after months of progesterone supplementation, IUIs, and a laparoscopy), my stats are so bad we may just cancel the whole damn thing. But I still have $4000 worth of drugs in my fridge (all paid out of pocket, not returnable), so maybe we’ll use them, even though our chances suck. And I can’t start the drugs I need for my MS until I either have a baby or give up trying.
He’d come a long way from the tiny spaniel pup we brought home more than 15 years ago, and from the love sponge and all-around great dog he became as an adult.
He began really declining several months ago. He was increasingly weak and unsteady on his legs (he’d tend to fall over when shaking himself off). He was deaf and had become incontinent. As far as the latter goes, it didn’t help that he’d developed a demented need to drink lots of water. He’d fret if he didn’t have a full water bowl. He’d begun to lose weight in spite of our best efforts to encourage him to eat. It was also clear that all we were doing to keep him clean and get him through his activities of daily canine living was only making him miserable.
So after a final weekend of fussing over him and giving him special treats, we brought him in to the vet. She zonked him out with a tranquilizer shot, and then the final shot put him down. It was a gentle way to go, and absolutely the right thing to do.
I still feel like shit.
Our Labrador, who never cared for Bubba and studiously ignored him most of the time, is off her feed. Maybe she misses him, or senses that something is wrong.
Or maybe she ate something she found in the yard and it is disagreeing with her. It’s hard to tell.
Grad school makes me sad. Every single day. I vividly recall being so hopeful and excited once I was accepted. I knew I made the right choice when I packed up my home and trecked back to Utah.
I hate grad school. I hate it so hard. I hate every embarrassing, humiliating, impossible second of it. I hate that I still haven’t gotten the hang of it after a year.
The person who stole my wallet makes me sad. There was no cash in it. he didn’t use the cards. and my whole life was turned upside down.
Every day, since this semester, something new has gone wrong. Most morning, I’m not even sure why I make the effort to get out of bed and go back. But I do. I don’t know why. All I want to do is stay home, write, and fuck around with my fantasy football team.
Everybody keeps saying one more year. I have over $1000 in medical bills because last semester, school made me so sick that I couldn’t eat, and couldn’t sleep. They tested me for everything from gall stones to pancreatic cancer. The surgeon ultimately declared it was just stress. The pain is already starting to return.
There is no thing that has yet saddened me, for I am a man. The only emotion I feel is the Rage. It overtakes me and I lay waste to all that is around me. My Rage subsides only when all hearts have run dry of blood and all timber has been burnt to ash!
A volunteer project I’ve been involved in came apart in a crashing trainwreck this week. Personality conflicts, money problems, you name it. It was a learning experience, but completely not in the way it was intended (all I wanted to do was learn how to frame a roof!). Now everyone is looking around and wondering whether they can pick up the pieces. That makes me sad.
There are enough boors and thugs and predators and posessive assholes out there who won’t take no for an answer that people, especially women, feel the need to armour themselvs in public and harshly reject contact. That reduces my chances of making contact, and that really makes me sad.
No country in the world that has brave shining good ideals seems to have the balls to make their foreign policy live up to those ideals. Yeah, I know all about realpolitik and all that. That’s just the excuse the users use to ride roughshod over the rest of us. You say you dislike torture? Don’t deal with torturers. You say you support human rights or the environment? Cut off relationship with countries that violate those things. Oh, it would be inconvenient because the violators have oil or water or customers or nice cheap workers? Guess you don’t really support your ideals after all; you just keep prating them to delude the masses. And that makes me sad.
My new coworker was crying at her desk today, because she’s overwhelmed and people keep treating her like she didn’t just start three weeks ago. It made me sad because she’s normally laughing and smiling a lot.
I have been unemployed for a long time. The place that pays my unemployment money have sent me on a work placement for the last 10 weeks. They pay the people to employ me for that period. In theory I gain valuable experience and they get to evaluate me at no cost to themselves and they will see how wonderful I am and offer me a job at the end of it.
I have loved working there. I get on very well with everybody and I think I have managed to make a difference. I have helped them solve some problems they were having and make things easier for them. Unfortunately it doesn’t look like they have the budget to offer me a job. I am very sad.
Well, I guess one of the reasons we can’t get laid is because being attracted to a disabled person makes you a fetish weirdo.
Whenever I see threads with people whining about finding true love I want to punch them in the fucking throat. If you’re able bodied, at least you’re not automatically knocked out of the gene pool. Aww, you can’t find your true love? Grow a spine, you worthless, sorry sacks. Many disabled people would settle for the empty, meaningless sex that you take for granted.
Meanwhile, let me know if you find the number for the fetish freak network. I’ll be in the closet masturbating and crying.
