What is it about me that means the Powers That Be feel the need to slap me round the face every so often to check I'm paying attention? God(s) forbid I should go through a day or a week without realizing I'm rapidly turning into a down and out! Just a quick slap with an invisible wet fish every so often and I'm back in the land of reality where I'm skint, fat, miserable, scruffy and living in a craphole with no shelving whatsoever with only a 2 year old to keep me company! I crave adult company and conversation and sometimes it'd just be nice to have a cuddle that warms a bit more than just my knees!
Today is one of those "invisible wet fish" days. My lovely little black bunny rabbit, Malcolm, appears to have a recurrance of the abcess that's above (or possibly behind) his right eye. Not satisfied with fating him to be abandoned when he caught myxamatosis and having to go through what must have been the most appaling pain as he slowly recovered, those same Powers That Be, in their infinite wisdom, have seen fit to give the poor sod a recurring abcess that's obviously affecting his already badly scarred face and making him feel wretched. I've phoned the vet and the PDSA about it, hoping that either the vet would be nice enough to treat him again free of charge because they obviously didn't do the job they were supposed to when he had it operated on last month or that the PDSA would offer me something positive. As it is, I have to take him to see the PDSA tomorrow morning (nice drive all the way to Gillingham - means I have to prevail upon Mother again for transport and go complete with 2 year old son in tow) so that they can assess him and decide if there's any point in them treating him. The woman on the phone said there may be nothing more they can do for him and it might be best to put him to sleep. I don't want to do that if I can help it. I gave Malcolm a home because he deserved to have a better quality of life and someone to love and care for him - something his previous owners obviously didn't do. I still want him to have that life if he can.So that was my first slap. The second slap? My dear soon-to-be ex-husband phones to tell me he's paid a measly £60 into my account - £10 of which is to buy myself a birthday present from our son Aston. Whoopdidoo! Gonna buy a lot, that! I'm bringing up our child on my own and all I'm worth is a tenner. Thanks. I get the hint.
Third slap? My friend Maria finds a link to the sale details for the lovely house I was pushed out of by said soon-to-be ex. Just looking at the pictures depressed me. That was supposed to be where we would live for some years and bring up our children. Now it's sitting empty because he never bothered to keep up the mortgage payments because making sure his car looked its best and was always chugging the best petrol was more important than ensuring there was a roof over his family's heads. I sold my little house in Sheerness to help buy that place. If I hadn't, we'd have got nowhere. And what have I got to show for it? Nothing. And I doubt if I'll even get anything out of the sale once the debts have been paid off. The ex won't acknowledge the amount I put in to buying it so there's a big fat zero of a chance of me getting back an equivalent of what I put in.
They must have pulled out the biggest, wettest fish they could find today *shakes fist ineffectually at the sky*
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