So, nearly the end of another depressed weekend. It’s not funny any more. I’ve been keeping quite busy, but every time I sit down, a wave of depression comes over me. Sometimes mild, sometimes horrific. It’s been quite the mixed bag of positive and negative vibes all weekend. My musical compadre came over to watch the happy hour with me on Friday night. He didn’t stay for the zoom, but much as I enjoy his company, I wanted to talk to some of my headcases about their private stuff anyway. I’m also becoming more insular again. If that’s even possible. I actually woke up before midday on Saturday. That’s something I guess.
Mr Screamer and I had been discussing music last week and he sent me a vocal clip he did from his favourite Lamb of God song. I played with the EQ, added a bit of chorus and compression, and the ubiquitous delay at the end of course. I randomly thought of putting it in one of my unfinished songs. Weirdly it was in the same tempo. I’ve never mixed vocals before and it was fascinating. I even chopped individual words out and put them in time with it. Mr Screamer loved it. We had agreed to chat about this and music in general Saturday afternoon. He lives in Canada so it was morning for him. By the end, I had sent him all sorts of things I’ve written/composed so he can see what he can do with it. I agreed to start writing a new track. It was great to have a one on one zoom with him. He felt likewise. I love working as a producer/mixer. It’s probably the best distraction from my grief/depression.
Sunday was warm and sunny. I even had my top off a few times. The weekend depression was doing it’s thing again but I was determined to push past it if I could. I cut the grass, tidied the beds a little but that was all I could manage, apart from putting the washing out to dry. Mr C refused his food in the morning. His back end has been quite stiff for some time. He’s an old boy now at nearly thirteen and Collies are known to have back leg problems later in life. I tried again a while later and he ate half of it. The little angel was mopey and down, bless him. I think his back legs are hurting him. Who wants to eat when they’re in pain? The scary thing is that it reminds me of when one of our cats died. Mr S had organ failure in the end and would spend all of his time laying under the radiators as his body couldn’t generate enough heat any more. Not long before My Lady died, we discovered to our dismay that Border Collies have an average life expectancy of ten to thirteen years. I didn’t voice my concerns to my Princeling but in my heart I know Mr C is nearing the end of his life one way or the other. I’ve been expecting something to come along for over a year now. I’m really worried. I’m also worried about the effect on my Princeling. Over the last two years, he has got a lot closer to Mr C. His eighteenth birthday is this Saturday, and as horrific a thought as it is, part of me is begging that Mr C at least lasts past then. Cue guilt trip… Strangely, I have been preparing myself for a long time. Once he goes, that’s it. No more fur babies of any kind. Mr T and I will see out the next decade together with any luck. I’ll be pushing sixty by then so who even knows if I’ll make it much further.
Much as I’ve been begging for summer all winter, now it’s pretty much here, it brings with it it’s own collection of triggers. Like I mentioned in my last post, despite it being two summers ago, I’m still taken back to lockdown in the summer of 2020 when I’m in my garden in the sunshine. My memories of last summer are all about the vaccination centre. I can’t remember much else. In 2020, despite the glorious sunshine for months, daily BBQ’s etc etc, I was constantly in a traumatised state. Sat out there, drinking, smoking and simply crying all day and most of the night, staring at the bonfire til two/three am. I poured out so much grief out there, it must have been soaked up by the ground. How could it not?
Monday morning now, and Mr C refused his food again. I tried to call the vets several times but they were closed as indeed they are at weekends. I called work to update them and I have the day off as holiday. I took Mr C for a walk around eight am so I could discuss my concerns freely without worrying my Princeling. I got an appointment for half eleven. The vet said he had no abnormal lumps and his heart was ok so he suggested blood tests to check nothing is a miss inside him. He has lost a lot of weight too. As soon as we were home, Mr C returned to his mopey state. It breaks my heart to see him like this. On top of everything we have been through, losing Mr C is potentially going to be the straw that broke the camels back. Probably for both my Princeling and I. Precious too. She lives in Bristol so couldn’t even come home to say goodbye to him if it came to that. This life is so shit… I don’t bant it any more.
Death, death, death… I’m sick of it. Other members of my close family are elderly now too so…
I’m sick of looking someone or a fur baby in the eyes when they die. My step mum and every one of our fur babies. To some extent, even My Lady. It got to the point that My Lady called me the death whisperer once. Not a title I like one bit. Even if it was appropriate in some ways. The vet was keen to point out Mr C’s age, saying that in human years he would be around ninety five and that he was doing well to have got this far. Not much consolation as you can imagine. The vets took some bloods and we await the results, due tomorrow afternoon. They will be calling me with the results. Deep down I know the news won’t be good. Great if not of course, but still, I’ve seen enough of this shit to know when death is approaching, no matter how fast or slow.
Random thought as I type: Who will be looking into my eyes when I die, if anyone?
So, I’m sat at my desktop as usual, pondering all of this. Can’t the Cosmos give me/us a break? Even a little bit? Just for a few years? Even my Cardiologist swore when I told him how many people and pets I’ve lost in the last three years. How the fuck are we supposed to heal (if that’s even possible) if this shit keeps happening? I’m sure I’m going to stay totally broken for the rest of my life. At my age, it’s hardly likely to get any better. Everyone knows that the older you get, the more people in your life die. ’tis the natural way of things unfortunately.
“Unfortunately”… The word hardly cuts it.
What to do with the rest of my day? I’ve just finished one beer and have already opened the second. Sue me, I don’t care at the moment. I have the whole day off and don’t have to be anywhere so why the hell not? I’ve barely drunk two cans since/including Friday so I’m good.
So I drank another can after that and I’m about to open another. So what if the beer runs out? I won’t be buying any more until Friday at the earliest anyway. Apart from a couple of positive blips the last few days have been crap. I’m tapping out for now. I’m off duty.
The Life and Times of Lord Crookedhorn. 