Quick Cagney update.

Chalk one up for chemicals. The medication has clearly helped him.

He spent all night trembling and shuffling about, too uncomfortable to lie still.

We sat outside from 4 in the morning until after dawn. Now, he's so exhausted, I can hardly get him up to go outside.

Thankfully, his system is calmed and there have been no eruptions...from either end...for hours and hours.

Thank goodness.

At our second vet appointment in two days, it was field trip day for a local first grade class. The teachers were great about demanding that the kids say hello 'with their eyes' rather than trying to pet him. As if to prove his potential as a therapy dog, Cagney was clearly distressed that there were 20 five year olds refusing to touch him!

As if to prove his potential as a therapy dog, Cagney was clearly distressed that there were 20 five year olds refusing to touch him!

Contrast with Darby, who spent ten minutes playing keep-away from two little girls at the park. I was laughing the other day at the prospect of Darby as one of those comfort dogs. More like "back off there, pal, personal space" dog.

More like "back off there, pal, personal space" dog.

That would have been Bartleby with everyone but his closest friends...human or canine.

Anne, I'm so sorry. My thoughts are with you.

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As if to prove his potential as a therapy dog, Cagney was clearly distressed that there were 20 five year olds refusing to touch him!

Ahahaha, Frankie would be distraught.

I'm glad I had bounced back somewhat from my funk this weekend, because I just found out that my grandma is going into assisted living (she hasn't recovered mentally or physically from the pneumonia to go back to her apartment from rehab) and it's happening in the next week or so. Which means there are decisions to be made about all her stuff. I don't think it'll get ugly - we all have way too much stuff and I don't think any of us care about one thing enough to pick a fight; but I finally have to decide whether I want the antique red velvet sofa that's had my name on it (literally; a piece of masking tape somewhere on the underside) for about fifteen years. And then there's all the emotional stuff it brings up, too. Harder on my dad than me, for sure, but it's another transition and sign that she's closer to dying.

Also, my roommate noticed that Bella has worms, which means all three of my animals need vet appointments. I love my pets, but damn.

Also, my roommate noticed that Bella has worms, which means all three of my animals need vet appointments. I love my pets, but damn.

Panacur, yo!

Super inexpensive and amazingly effective.

So my day was semi productive. I got my blood drawn. Went to therapy. Went to the grocery store.

And my appetite is back with a vengeance since I went back on the full dose of Seroquel. I had no idea how much I actually ate until my appetite decreased.

My therapist is leaving in July and but I may transition to another therapist sooner, though if I need more support with the medication changes. Although I think it will be a good change, I like my therapist, but at times it's been easy for us to get side tracked in therapy and I think I need someone who can keep me on track and maybe help me be a little more goal oriented.

I'm turning 40 in June and I think that's going to be hitting me very hard, especially with this last year.

In omigod that's so sweet news, my brother posted a "worksheet" called I love My Dad that my nephew did at preschool. The teacher filled it in for him.

It says:

My Dad's name is L
He is 24 years old 10 feet tall and weighs 1340 pounds.
His favorite food is eggs and vegetables
My Dad is really good at carrying things and paddling a kayak
He loves to go to work
My favorite thing to do with my Dad is play games.
I am just like my Dad because "we have the same eyes".
What I love most about my Dad is he loves me!

That is sweet, Askye! I hope things go ok with the transition between therapists and your search for the right meds.

Clearly he sees his dad as a John Bunyan type of figure.

I'm so sorry, Anne.

Probably only Allie Brosh could make "your fish are dead" a comfort.