feeling better than yesterday. now it’s “just” the images of her on the vet’s floor haunting me and not so much the memories of what she did while she was still alive. still feel like i’m in that middle-state of acknowledging she’s not here any more. i know, but i don’t want to believe it, but i also do want to believe it because i don’t want to be this sad any more. it’s heartbreaking feeling this way.
thanks for the sorrys/condolences, guys. <3333 i really appreciate it. my tear ducts have finally dried out a little, even though the sadness still tugs heavily at my heartstrings. she’s in a better place, and her pain is gone, and for that i’m glad. but i’ve been missing her all day. it was hell riding out to the vet cos she whined and whined and whined — she was (god, “was”… ugh) never particularly fond of driving, so my eyes welled up already then. yogi was with us, and he didn’t seem to know what exactly was happening. even when tessie was gone, he laid down next to her like they usually do, uhm, did at home, getting cozy. but when we were back in the car, he jumped up against the seats to look in the back and looked and looked and looked and seemed confused we weren’t bringing tessie back with us. think it was hell riding out there? god, shit got heavy on the ride back. my throat’s getting tight just typing this up. god. i’d cried my heart out (though not the ugly crying, which would’ve probably been better for me in this case) and thought i was done, and then after dinner and walking yogi and my dad and i got back, i went to the terrace to have a smoke, and saw the neighbour’s cat strutting by on the other side of the hedge. aaand that tipped me over again. because had tessie been there, she would’ve run straight up to the hedge and started barking diabolically at this menace —— but this time she didn’t, cos she’s not here any more. aaaaand now i’m crying again. it’s jsut so hard to figure out, like, what to DO. all day i’ve been struggling with whether i should keep myself occupied or to do nothing, because neither have helped at all. and now i’m back home, and i’m afraid that whenever i hear a dog bark for the next two weeks, i’m gonna start crying, cos that what tessie did, that ever-happy, noisy lil shit. i haven’t even lived with her for the past 7 months, but seeing her less just made it more painful to watch as she deteriorated ever time i visited my parents. i felt the cancer develop by her thighs —- breast cancer, said the vet —- and i saw her wobble more and more, up until she was hardly able to stand on her feet today. it kills me that she’s gone, even if i know it’s what was best for her, cos keeping her around would’ve been cruel and selfish. but god damn it if i’m not going to miss her stupid, barking face whenever i go visit my parents, cos that was my beloved stupid, barking face. typing all this up hardly made me feel better, cos now i’m crying as hard as i did when the syringe pierced her heart. but i don’t know what to do with myself. grief is a pain in the ass that way, even if death had been imminent these past months. i thought i’d worked myself up to an understanding of it all, but i guess, in the end, i’m as human as the rest, and here i am. tessie, i hope, wherever you are in your never-ending state of dreams, you have plenty of holes to dig and cats to chase and birds to bark at. i miss you. we all do. and we sure as hell won’t ever forget you, even if that means i can’t tolerate barking without tearing up for the weeks to follow. goodbye, love…
starting to think i’m progressively fucking up my lunges for every day i do them
then again, phys said it’s ok to feel sore —- so long as it didn’t last for days (and it hasn’t, it just feels weird when i do them). ugh, maybe it’s just my shitty balance making my legs do weird shit. we’ll see. check-up on tuesday. :I
hilr0y said: I made a dough from CAULIFLOWER a few days ago it was RADICAL
hohman, i’m not even gonna venture that far, haha. i’m pretty vanilla in that area since i’m hella picky wrt food. mine was just 25g yeast in 3dl lukewarm water, then 500g flour, 1½tbsp olive oil, 1tbsp sugar, and 1/2tbsp salt. so, fairly simple. but it tasted hella good, so i’m definitely gonna make my own dough from now on instead of buying them at the store, even if it’s more time consuming, hah.
… i DO applaud your use of CAULIFLOWER in frikken dough………. wtg, u cray canadianan
Stop reblogging that post about calling.emaling McCulloch to take the Mike Brown case. The protestors do not want him prosecuting the case due to his multiple familial ties to the police department. (Source 1, 2,3)
So repeat, do not email or call McCulloch to take the case. He will be unfairly biased in favor of the police.
EDIT and UPDATE: McCulloch is actually already on the case. He is leading the prosecution. He is the county prosecutor. People have been calling for him to step down for two weeks. There has been a public fiasco between Governor Nixon saying “he can step down if he wants to” and McCulloch saying “I’m not stepping down unless Nixon calls for it.”
(Therefore we need to convince Governor Nixon to force McCulloch to step down.)
What fucks me up about the Darren Wilson fundraiser is that he hasn’t been charged with a crime. He doesn’t have to hire a lawyer. He’s on paid leave, so he’s not losing wages. This is not covering his expenses, because he doesn’t have any additional expenses. This is a reward. He’s getting a $250,000 reward for murdering an unarmed black kid.
HE HAD TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL. MIKE REACHED FOR HIS GUN. HIS FRIEND THAT WAS WITH HIM EVEN ADMITTED THAT HE LIED ABOUT THE COP JUST RANDOMLY SHOOTING HIM AND CONFIRMED THAT THEY ROBBED THE STORE. SELF DEFESE.
None of this is true. This is how good the Ferguson PD’s smear campaign has been. Not one sentence here is accurate. Let’s break this down:
"MIKE REACHED FOR HIS GUN." Officer Wilson’s story is that the first shot that went off was an accidental discharge while they were fighting over the gun. However. there was no gunpowder residue on Mike Brown, meaning that he was absolutely not holding the gun when it went off and furthermore that he was not even that close. He was fired on from a distance.
"HIS FRIEND THAT WAS WITH HIM EVEN ADMITTED THAT HE LIED ABOUT THE COP JUST RANDOMLY SHOOTING HIM AND CONFIRMED THAT THEY ROBBED THE STORE." This is actually a compound lie, which is kind of impressive. His friend, Dorian Johnson, did not say that. His lawyer said they were together in the convenience store, the police said there was a robbery, and the media put those two statements next to each other to imply a statement was made that never was. Johnson isn’t being charged with anything because the Ferguson PD “determined he committed no crime." The Ferguson PD also admitted Officer Wilson didn’t know about the scuffle at the convenience store before he stopped Brown and Johnson. You may be wondering why I say scuffle instead of robbery. That’s because there wasn’t one: the owners of the store didn’t call the police and video shows Brown paying for the cigarillos! The clerk confronted Brown about reaching across the counter instead of waiting for him to hand over the cigarillos, he put his hand on Brown, and Brown pushed him. Yes, he pushed him too hard, but the clerk apparently didn’t care enough to call the police. The police were called by another customer in the store, who apparently didn’t know what was actually happening.
"SELF DEFESE." The autopsy shows that he was shot on the inside of his arm, meaning his hands were up, and the top of his head, meaning that, since Brown was 6’4”, either he was on his knees or the officer was 8’ tall. The officer was not 8’ tall.
The evidence clearly shows that Officer Wilson, who had no idea of the not-actually-a-robbery, executed the unarmed Mike Brown while he was on his knees with his hands in the air. Just like all of the eyewitnesses said (except for “Josie,” who turned out not to be real).
But the Ferguson PD’s already tainted public opinion. They’ve spread so many lies so effectively that no amount of evidence will bring justice. Your ignorance here is proof of just how effective it’s been.
The wind outside had calmed — a storm had raged for most of the evening and into the night, and sand had crept through crevices in the run-down mill. Vicki sat at the desk in her own, private wing, polishing the knife on her gun, the flickering flame of a scavenged oil lamp illuminating poorly. The floorboards creaked lightly; Vicki grasped her gun by its grip. Another creak. Swiftly, she turned on her chair, heart racing, finding her gun aimed at Kashmir’s forehead.
“What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that? Asshole!” She secured her weapon and put it back on the table.
“Aw, come on, it’s not like it was on purpose. Relax!” he retorted, dragging out the vowels in the final word.
“Oh, that was on purpose, and you know how I can tell?” She spun back around, facing her desk. “It’s not that you’re a bad liar – which you are, by the way – oh, no, you were coming in on my right side —- my deaf side. So don’t you dare tell me otherwise.”
“Whaaat, don’t get so heated. Why does it matter?!”
“It matters because at this very moment, we’re surrounded by braindead bankers and babysitters looking to have a taste of our brains, Kash. I’m not about to let my guard down just because you enjoy spooking me once in a while. Some of us aren’t putting high alert on pause to bang against a headboard for an hour – which, by the way, is extremely off-putting and not to mention distracting when I’m trying to get work done in here.”
“Actually that was Bones with the headboar—-”
“No, Kash, trust me when I say I really, really don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Yeah, and I’m just stopping you before you get to the grosser details, thanks.”
He shrugged and turned around to leave. Almost out the door, he whispered, “Sourpuss.”
“What was that?!” Vicki hissed.
Kashmir threw his hands in the air to signal his defeat, turning down the hall. “Nothing, your fussy Highness!”
She bunched the damp cloth, and returned to polishing the blade on her gun, just now realising Kashmir had been naked the entire conversation, shuddering at the thought of that image haunting her well into the night, into her nightmares.