All Of My Days Have Been Misspent
Stuffing Out The Sofa
63 things about me
64-113 things about me
ticket stubs
pet peeves
more pet peeves
a pug story
a nipple story
condensed bio
my country
pet quiz

Ain't it the shits?

2004-07-08 & 11:01 p.m.

My day began with picking up dog feces in the yard at 6 am. I should have known beginning one's day in such a manner would only lead to worse things.

When Ashley mind melded me into working in a vet hospital again, she filled my head with delusions of granduer. It is so much fun and they are so nice here. I forgot I would actually have to work with animals. I also forgot that for 12 hours a day, I live and die by what goes in animals and what comes out. Maybe I have some sort of illness, but I just do not want to spend the rest of my life having to write descriptive entries about the color, consitency and contents of vomiting. (You know, the three "C's" of animal vomit..?)

When you are outside carrying a paper dish waiting for a chow to have bloody projectile diarrhea which you have to catch in the paper dish, you have a lot of time to think. What do you think about? You think about life. You think about the future. You think about how the hell that bloody projectile diarrhea isn't going to get on your hand because they laughed at you when you asked for a glove. You also think about how when you are finished with your "catch", there is a stool sample waiting for you to look at it under a microscopic lens. Because catching it in a dish isn't fun enough, let's analyze it as well.

Apparently, I suffered some sort of "shit" amnesia. I forgot in my 8 months of unemployment euphoria about the amount of shit you deal with. I forgot that lovely feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when the projectile bloody diarrhea squirts all over your legs while you are restraining the animal for its treatments. I forgot that lovely warm sensation of when a cat you are carrying urinates on you. I forgot the right words to accurately describe the color of a hairball that "Fluffy" threw up into her water dish. Part of my amnesia probably stems from the reception of a paycheck, but really does a 10 spot an hour really heal those wounds left on your soul from having to dig bloody diarrhea out from under your fingernails?

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<<<< relive my past & step into the future >>>>

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