*smooch* (ldy) wrote,

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Even at the turning of the tide... or maybe odd

Hi there! I am alive, and mostly well. My tides are turning. I don't expect that to make much sense to many here, but one element of it it is that I'm becoming less of an isolationist. I think it's a good sign. No, make that an excellent sign. I dont' write or visit or really do much of anything socially when I'm depressed. Judging by the looks of this journal, I've been far too down for far too long.

Last week or two have been crazy...
We just finished the fourth of five weeks of performances of Peter Pan. I am a pirate (arr!). The dances are short, but dancing with your chest bound is no picnic. Neither is spending an hour in makeup transforming from a halfway-attractive lady (hey, on a good day) to a butt-ugly man.
Friends opened a bar/pub/mad scientists' laboratory across town and I've been staying there way too late drinking way too much beer and having way too much fun. And then going to work in the morning. And then performing. And then rinsing and repeating.
Zacky moved back in with us, but he will be moving out again soon. It's been nice having my boyo back.
Max cat is our hospice patient now. We have to give him subcutaneous IV fluids every morning and a variety of meds each day. He's a trouper, though. It's hard to tell when the quality of his life has been diminished to the point of letting him go... I'm hoping he'll tell me. He has his bad days, but he has his good days, too.
Switch cat has adopted another cat (we'll call her Maria, as in "How Do You Solve a Problem Like..."). She follows him around everywhere. It's adorable. So, yeah, I guess we have four cats now. Except one is clearly Switch's.
As Max has shrunk from fifteen pounds to seven, so, too, has Gracie exploded from seven pounds to fifteen. WTF? I keep saying "she's not fat, she's thick." She seems to like that. Seriously, though, gotta put that cat on a DIET.

Although I'm feeling better, self-esteemy-wise, I feel like ass. Staying up 'til 6am chitchatting and smoking cloves and drinking Guinness is for twenty-somethings. Not forty-somethings thirty-nine-and-holdings six year-olds. Though I did get chatted up earlier in the evening by a twenty-nine year-old ex-marine who genuinely seemed to think I was thirty-one. Have I mentioned one of the things that really appeals to me about my friends' pub is the lighting? Yes, it's definitely the lighting.

I make no promises about coming back and posting regularly with photos and footnotes and witty remarks. Such declarations have never yet worked. So I'm going to STAY AWAY from Livejournal. Close my Semagic and never open it again. Yup. That's what I'll do.

Hopin' this works :)

~Hugs to those who need 'em, those who want 'em, and those who don't run away quickly enough~

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