Gonna have me some brains with gravy

[lizblackdog]

So, today was shopping fail day. that's the day when you run out of everything except bread and peanut butter a day before you get paid. So I'm scrambling round this afternoon with my last £1.50 making sure of something to feed the dogs.

I have a neighbour who sells frozen tripe and stuff. I have her damn phone number. But she wasn't in all day. I even left an attempted message on her answering machine, but it was probably not helpful since I froze up and blanked completely on MY OWN FUCKING PHONE NUMBER.

I'm not good with answering machines.

So strike tripe off my list of available options. I didn't have enough left to head to Asda and get chicken, so I was left with One Stop and their miserable selection of cans and kibbles (they don't sell meat for human consumption except in variously processed/salted/breadcrumbed forms either, or I'd have gone for that). So I pick three cans of the one I judge to be least nasty. The cashier thinks I'm batshit because I feel compelled to tell her how I wouldn't normally feed my dogs this stuff, that it's only for one day. That I promise to do better tomorrow.

That sentence there feels like the story of my life.

So I get home, and I open these damn cans to feed to my unsuspecting dogs. I think it smells like some poor unfortunate dog has already eaten it at least once, but the dogs think it's their birthday. Revolting junk food is apparently teh best treat EVAR. The cats agree, to the point where I have to give them some too even though I have enough perfectly good frozen day-old chicks left for THEIR supper.

Then I slice the tip of my index finger open on a sharp edge inside the can while I'm forking this disgusting mess into the dog bowls, and it bleeds like I've severed the main blood supply to one of my legs. It's running down the fork, it's dripping all over the foul dogfood like someone swirled a turd with a nice raspberry coulis.

It makes me obscurely less unhappy to feed it to them garnished with my blood. Later, when I am less miserable (probably around November, the way the weather's been going) I'll joke with my dogpeople friends about how I bled myself to keep them fed. Right now there's no laughter in me.

Various people on my friends list are going through various bad shit, and I ache to be able to help. The last two people I made a point of sending luck and good thoughts to in writing both had their situations turn worse, and even though I'm well aware of the monstrous egotism of imagining I had anything to do with that, it's left me superstitiously reluctant to do so again. So you know who you are, and I love you, but I'm not commenting. Just in case.

...no, I've not forgotten the larger issues out there, but Iran falls under the same sort of superstitious breath-holding. I'm saying nothing. And dead celebrities - meh. I was fond of Farrah, but apart from that and the most basic nod of respect for the end of ANY life, I just don't care. Besides, it's not like your f-lists won't be choked with it already. Depressive navel-gazing from me might even be a nice change.