Smokeku

AKA Someone Put Me Out of My Misery

One week since my last
puff. Quiting's only healthy
if you live through it.

Splat!

Cuddling against DH's back and we manage to sleep in the not-so-wee hours of the morning after the ILs abandon their bed and we take it over, my hair apparently tickles DH's back and in his state of sleepiness he reaches behind himself and PUNCHES ME IN THE EYE. Just in case I'm a tickling bug crawling on his back who needs a black eye.

The Vacation from Hell: Ch 2: The Excrement Slingers

Last night as we prepared for a night of pain and suffering which would make us long for the sproingy springs from our first Bed From Hell, we realized that there was in fact no ceiling fan in the living room cum storage and music room cum Sleeping Chamber from Hell With Only The Faintest Illusion of Privacy Since It's Actually Right By The Front Door.

"At least we'll have a ceiling fan" had been the mantra which made the Sleeping Chamber Etc seem bearable.

At this point in The Vacation from Hell I just broke down laughing. As I told DH, it was like we were being carted along on one o' them conveyer belt thingamajiggers. Standing alongside it were groves of people with a handful or two of excrement. As we passed, they regarded us gravely, and slung handfuls of shit at us.

Splat!

The Vacation from Hell: Ch 1: Beds from Hell

It's not often you come across a Bed From Hell. That is to say: it happens, sure. All of us probably have at one time or another slept on a Bed From Hell (and I use the term "sleep" lightly) but for the most part it's comfy, OK, even bearable beds for all.

So since I have had my second (and a half really, considering the only mildly successful attempt to tame the first beast by flipping the mattress) encounter with a Bed from Hell on this vacation it really feels like the whole trip is marked with these bastards, like stamps of approval from the Travel Agents from Hell.

(There's a haiku in there somewhere, but I couldn't make it work.)

This second bunion on the calloused toe of my existance was actually a Pallet of Pain consisiting of several thin blankets spread over a wanabe carpet atop the hardest slab of cement known to man.

I can honestly say it was the most uncomfortable bed I have ever slept in in my whole life. Slept, again, is a word to be used with caution.

Jingles

Jingles passed away this morning.

Round midnight I checked on him. I turned and starting walking away when something made me stop. I wanted to hold him again in case it was the last time. Odd bits of intuition are not new to me, though they're not true intuition. Bit o intuition jelly without the stuffing, that's the pieces I usually get, but this time it didn't let me down.

Checked on him again round 4 AM and he was still breathing.

When I got up at eight thirty he was already cold and stiff.

Turns out that WAS the last time I got to hold the precious boy.

He was a righteous old dude and he fough the good fight, and I'm glad he doesn't have to struggle any more. He deserves to breathe without having to work at it, and run around on all four good feet again.

You can read about Fandango here.

Jingles and his brother, Sam, who passed away a short while ago, were my first two rats in adulthood. It feels like the end of an era. Four wonderful fuzzbutts are left in the cage Sam and Dango used to live in, and another cage is home to two more. Sometimes it almost feels like they're all fosters, though they've never felt that way before. It's just not REAL without Sam and Dango. They've been here since the begining.

We will just have to pick up the pieces and take awhile to get used to this new picture the puzzle, its pieces changed, removed, and added, forms.

I do, by the way, have some of the cutest damn rats ever.