Poetry and musings, like

An ode to my fucking cat, Evinrude the Neurologically Deranged:

Why do you pee on the rug?
My house has been filled with your fug.
You don't use your box,
Though it's not behind locks;
Why do you pee on the rug?

Why do you pee on the rug?
I've tried every potion and drug.
The Feliway spray
Only lasted a day;
Why do you pee on the rug?

Why do you pee on the rug?
A permanent frown's on my mug.
I can't have in guests
You small, furry pest;
Why do you pee on the rug?

Why do you pee on the rug?
You're a ten-inch-tall, fourteen-pound thug.
I can't find an answer
To this pee-staining cancer.
Why do you pee on the rug?

Why do you pee on the rug?
You're not a nice cat, you're a lug.
You're so down in my eyes
You might be euthanized;
Why do you pee on the rug?!!!

(Nota bene: I do not intend, under any circumstances except those merciful, to euthanize my cat. From the time she came to me soaked in insectide [Thanks, evil humans!] as a kitten to the day she recovered from distemper, she has been my best buddy. But this peeing on the rug thing is getting to me. I have ordered a carpet steamer.)

(I should note here that Evvie really is neurologically damaged, thanks to the early immersion in insecticide. Until the age of two, she had a disconjugate gaze, which still reappears when she's tired. And she bites. And freaks out for no reason. But I love her. Even though my house smells like a Crazy Old Cat Lady's house. Next time it's wood floors or nothing.)

Musings, like

I know an Irritating Californian who moved to The Great Stars At Night Are Shining Bright State a few years ago, just like the rest of the irritating people from California did. And like the rest of the Irritating Californians, he's helped drive up property values and destroy ranchland with his McMansion.

He recently moved away from the big city into a town that's easily mispronounced and is now complaining about 1) the outcome of the mid-term elections and 2) the weather. These two things are related in a tangential way; trust me.

His big bitch about the mid-term elections is Speaker Pelosi. "As a long-time resident of The Bay Area (tm), " he says, "I dread a Pelosi-led Congress." "I didn't see much of the consensus-building Pelosi you refer to during my time in The Bay Area (tm)." "The thought of Speaker Pelosi, since I lived in The Bay Area (tm), gives me the willies."

Okay. Fine. We know you lived in The Bay Area. You now live in a fully Red state, so you should be happy.

But no. It was 89 degrees deep in the heart today, and California Dreamer had to complain about that, too. "I just don't like waking up to 44* and having it be nearly 90* by the end of the day" he whined.

Look. This state has famously weird weather. It's mostly hot and dry. As the man said, if he owned both Hell and here, he'd live in Hell and rent out the state. This state is known for weather that kills the stupid and preserves their corpses at the side of the road. It's where even the most stoned of hippies knows not to camp under a pecan tree or in a dry ditch, as the one drops limbs without warning and the other fills up with water ditto.

I pointed out that The Bay Area is supposed to be nice this time of year. It did not earn me points.

That's okay. I'm not the one who moved to a small unpronounceable town in the middle of the state and is raving about how countrified it is.

This guy is actually happy that he has goats near him.

On the south side of his property.

I can't wait until August.

Testing....testing....

The Certified Neuroscience Registered Nurse exam is tomorrow. That is, it's tomorrow in a city far enough away that I have to get up at an even more horrifying time than my usual horrifying awake time in order to get there. Originally, a bunch of what-I-thought-were-my-friends and I had planned to carpool up to The Test, but I was the only one who registered in time, so I'll be making the drive by my lonesome.

And taking a four-hour, 250-question test about the brain and spine and all the marvelous things that can go wrong with them.

I've been studying. But I'm still shocked at how much I've forgotten since my internship. I guess I haven't really seen that much variety in my four years at La Schwankienne Boutique Hospital; perhaps (if I pass) I should parlay the CNRN designation into a job at the Cleveland Clinic. Or Johns Hopkins, where they have that guy who cures gliomas.

Speaking of gliomas, the young mother with a glioma is doing...much better. It's another case of withdrawing treatment to see the patient improve.

There's one thing that won't improve if you withdraw treatment, however: an eighteen-year-old cocaine overdose with attendant heart failure and anoxic brain damage. That was one of my patients yesterday.

I am going to go to every beautiful, healthy young person I know and ask them if they snort cocaine. If they do, a massive ass-kicking will commence without warning. I'm starting tomorrow night at the bar, as soon as I'm done driving back from That Test.