Dirtbunny.net: Bunny is Pissed Off

The other day, I watched Elmer Gantry on the DVR. It was an Oscar-winning classic movie, and I remembered enjoying the novel by Nobel-prize winner American author Sinclair Lewis. What a bust. I’m idealistic, but not naïve, and I certainly don’t expect movies to bear much resemblance to the books on which they are based. This, however, was a serious disappointment. I was outraged enough that I instructed The Man to take me to the library post-haste so I could check out the novel and re-read it to see if it was all in my head. The Man goes to the library several times a week, but I haven’t been in a long while. So long that my library card had expired. They issued me a new one. Here’s my card and The Man’s card for a little compare and contrast.

Please return to the top to take the poll.

And now let’s get a little personal.

In case it has escaped your notice, Dirtbunny has what are known these days as “issues.” Bunny has standing behind her a phalanx of helping professionals who work pretty hard to keep her sane, well, keep her acting sane most of the time. Lately, the one of them has insisted that I go to my shrink for some pharmacological adjustments. Me no wanna. Me would rather not ever take any meds ever again for anything (although I do faithfully take my meds every day like the sheep I am). Me told her to stuff it. She didna like me telling her to stuff it. She has continued to nag me about the meds. Then the second one got on the bandwagon. And also The Man.

SEE YOUR SHRINK.

SEE YOUR SHRINK.

SEE YOUR SHRINK.

OK already. Bite me and I’ll see the shrink. Just shut the fuck up and quit nagging me. And they all want to be able to talk about me behind my back. Fine, you have my permission. Have at it. What do I care?

So I get an appointment with the shrink, who can’t see me for three weeks, but who wants me to start taking more meds right away. Fuck. Fine, I’ll take more meds. And here’s an email giving you written consent to talk to everyone else about me behind my back. Sheesh.

So then I get a voicemail from the shrink. She’s gotten a voicemail from one of my helping professionals, and they are all “concerned” about me, so please come in for an appointment tomorrow. Okay, okay! Sheesh. What’s the big deal? Leave me alone.

And then I get an email. My written consent is inadequate for the bureaucracy. I have to execute a consent on one of their crappy little forms, and I have to go to such and such place to get a form, etc. etc. I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS. I’m a lawyer, for cryin’ out loud, and I am well aware that the statutory purpose of the crappy waiver is to protect ME and if I have given you a knowing and informed written waiver IN MY OWN WORDS then that should be fucking good enough.

It never is, however. The theme of 2008 so far is that the system must be served, man. The system isn’t really there to serve the individuals in the system, the individuals are there to serve the system, man. And anyway, I’m not so sure that I have any problems that can’t be solved by staying in bed for the rest of my life with an endless supply of chocolate and Pellegrino. But this attitude is “concerning,” so off I go to the goddamn shrink, and off I go to an undisclosed location where I will attempt to execute a fucking proper consent form, and I have to call my therapist every day, and I get some extra therapy this week on top of that. I hope everyone is happy. This is really cutting into my knitting time.

I know, I know. I said I was gonna do it and I’m gonna do it. I’m a sheep, okay? Aren’t I allowed to be a cranky sheep?

And so now let’s get a little less personal. I believe I have ranted before about a certain someone’s bad habit of watering the rug and the resultant stinkiness. This weekend, we took the rug out on the deck and subjected it to a serious steam cleaning. We replaced the rug pad with a new, unstained one. And we put it all back and gave it the full herbal deodorizing treatment

complete with the Baby Gate of Injustice

It all looks a lot better, but it only smells about 50% better. Yarn Bandit has spent a fair amount of time standing on the rug and sniffing at his favorite places. This worries me.

So I’m ticked that we didn’t (can’t?) get it all out. And I’m ticked about this:

However, it is under the rug, and I’m going to pretend it isn’t there, since this floor can’t be refinished and I have no intention of replacing it.

I JUST FUCKING DUMPED COFFEE ON MY KEYBOARD!

Safety cup only from now on.

Is there any good news? Yes, there is. We did some essential shopping recently: