It'll have to come out , you know.

[smokingboot]

To the joy of my dentist, one of my wisdom teeth is in such a state of collapse, he's going to take it out before it leaps to its doom. Which means more injections. This is really turning into a great year for my health.

Still, bog to all that. The weekend was cheeed by the company of larians, bad_moon_rising, cyanidemigraine and of course the magnificent evilwillow on the occasion of her birthday. Saturday night saw the birthday girl looking very chilled, half way down the road to Mashville. I wish I could have been more a-go-go and gone on to Jilly's, but girly ughdom put paid to that. I have not been at my best this weekend.

Good things have happened though.



Number One Son, after his many adventures, has spent a long time in solitary confinement, a distinctly bad option for a gerbil. I just don't understand these little freaks. Hawks, cats, snakes, pah! I suspect predators barely impact on the gerbil population; it's their internecine tribewars that decimate them.

It seems that there's no going back for a gerbil separated for more than a day from its clan. They lose the scent memory quickly and the result is fatal fighting,unless a kindly interloper swoops in and separates the little psychopaths. Introducing two strangers traditionally comes down to separating the cage into two cells and swapping the two until they get used to each other. You do this every half hour for a week, making sure that the divider is not easily knocked over or climbed over. Oh, and the mesh must be fine, otherwise they will bite each others' toes off as they clamber towards bloodfest. Nice.

I couldn't find an appropriately strong divider, and Number 1 Son has been alone for months, while I have looked for the kind of companion he might accept; a baby male that he can adopt - this is something that adult males do. Adult females will often kill strange pups. I tell you, the whole species is just evil; cats are innocent by comparison.

We found a potential Number 1 sonsson, a beautiful white and agouti baby with a diamond shaped white patch on his forehead. Sometimes he presses his head against the glass, which results in a particularly bizarre centre parting. I was terrified that Number I Son might just attack him, or that the pup would develop some kind of Frankenstein's Bride style aversion to him, but no. Number 1 Son has adopted the little pup (called 'Pie') and is protective and tender. Fingers crossed, it stays that way. The difference in the exile's demeanour is clear. If the wee beasts of the earth can be happy, those two are happy, and that makes me smile.


Other stuff this weekend? Nightmares that made me scream, and an alarming conversation with a friend. There is so much to say that I can't say. God, I am so bad at this.

I have watched lives rot on the vine before, and sometimes people don't get the chance to do anything about it. But for those who do have that choice, there's little to be said if they refuse to take it. What's the quote from Shawshank Redemption? 'Getting busy living or getting busy dying...'

To those in the depths who want to be happy, more power to you; No, I can't know your pain, and that's of limited use anyway, unless my feeling it with you will shift your arse. Life is brutal but beautiful. Yes it hurts; still, come on. Get up.

Comments

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Thank you *hugs back*

So do I. It's frustrating, they have so much strength for other people...