Lull

1:12 p.m.

This morning I got Very Angry with the pharmacy tech, who inspected my prescription for the late afternoon dose of Adderall, and said, "Huh. You take this in the afternoon?" "Yes." "Normally people take it in the morning." "I was prescribed a larger dose in the morning and a small dose in the afternoon." "Huh." (Pause.) "That's not really normal, though. Huh. I don't know. That's not something that seems normal."

He also got my last name so completely misspelled on the prescription the pharmacist had to approve it, and also the tech had requested I have a special consultation with the pharmacist about my prescription. My last name starts with "Wey" and he started it with "Wagl" and clearly he didn't think prescription seemed "normal."

I told the pharmacist I'd been taking it for about six months now and no, I didn't have any questions and yes, I understood the medication and left all huffy and was barely placated by buying another bird feeder.

It's sort of unprofessional, right? To comment on someones prescription like that?

Good to know when everything else seems unfamiliar, the unprofessionalism of our modern day workforce will still baffle me and piss me off. Right? THANK GOODNESS FOR SOME FAMILIARITY. Also for feeding birds. I am completely excited by feeding the birds here, by the way. I talk about it a lot.

Like, a lot.

Oh, how I need to make some friends.

We're all still adjusting to our new state and new town and new house. I've been weeping quite a lot lately, a few times a day and sometimes, in a style that smacks of emo-sulky angst, I end up crying myself to sleep. Nothing tastes good except chocolate (this may have less to do with temporary life event depression and more with the increase of my morning Adderall dosage) and I've lost several pounds. I feel listless and panicky alternatively. I jump wildly from distant to clingy, excited to morose, grimly determined to completely hopeless. It's the life changes, and I know it will pass, and I know that I am extremely glad to have moved here, even if a temporary dark cloud hangs over my head and causes me to sob uncontrollably when I find myself alone. Even if J referred to me as "horribly depressed" and I couldn't correct him.

The pets are also having adjustment problems. They seemed fine about the move at first, but now that we're sort of getting into a routine their anxiety is more apparent. Coltrane (the evil one) has developed some sort of incredibly creepy binging disorder. She worries constantly about getting fed, and anytime one of us gets up from chair she gallops to her food dish and meows anxiously. We feed them three meals a day, but she currently desires 50 billion and will not stop short of constant begging and theft. We discovered she's been eating Jelly Roll's food (due to sudden weight loss and a weird habit of trying to eat the dog's dry food), pushing him away from his dish after scarfing down her meal. She's gotten very tubby and cranky, and this weekend hurled SO MUCH after eating her meal AND Jelly Roll's meal in about 2.6 seconds.

Jelly Roll, in addition to getting skinny (he was on a weight-loss plan, but my goal for him was 12 pounds, down from 14 or 15 or 16 or whatever it was, and suddenly he's 11.5 pounds and very hungry due to Coltrane's annoying food thievery), often gets lost in the house. I think he falls asleep somewhere and when he wakes forgets that we've moved, and we hear plaintive, soul-wrenching meows from whatever room he's lost in. I normally call out, "We're in here!" and he comes trotting in, looking both relieved and scared and sometimes making grunty little cat panic noises. Shut up, my cats totally have the ability to look relieved and scared. They are gifted. Gifted at facial expression.

Shut up!

I think the worst is Monk, though. In Wyoming we had a big privacy fence, and we were able to let him outside to run laps and get lots of galloping exercise and, most gloriously, open the door and let him out to do his business and then let him back in when he was done. We have no fence here, and will not be able to afford one for a while, so we must walk him on the leash around the yard every time he needs to potty. His exercise isn't as vigorous here because I can not canter like a horse for hours, and he spends 97 percent of his time moping. He also has weird bathroom issues (he doesn't really like us to see him poop), and he is easily distracted from doing his business. You know, by dogs, or loud cars, or squirrels, or air. One night before bed we walked around the yard with him for an hour, praying he would just pee, just a little, so we could go to sleep. But the grass was too wet, and it was distressing to him, and he went I-don't-even-want-to-know how long without pottying that day.

It's been a weird adjustment for us AND him, and yesterday I don't know how I missed the clues, but our perfectly-housebroken-never-has-an-accident-inside dog took an enormous shit on my studio floor (on a rug, mostly, which, with the flood, cuts down on my studio rugs by three now) and he was so sad and upset about it. And I felt like the worst dog owner ever, that I didn't notice my dog needed to go out and take a dump, and he probably agonized and was in mental hell before finally letting loose on my studio floor. (Why is my studio taking the brunt of everything gross and disastrous? Like floods? And dog poop?) I felt so guilty, so ashamed, and he did too. Terrible.

On the bright side, because we have no fence, I do weird things like taking him outside on the leash while I take down clothes from the line. Try holding an 80 pound dog on a leash while you un-clothespin sheets. It's exciting.

I'm sure our neighbors think I'm awesome.

Awesomely cool!

So that's how the pets are coping--moping and binging and accidentally pooping right in front my easel--and how I am coping--crying a lot--and J is very busy with his new job.

I was looking for a part-time job, to meet people and maybe have a little steady income while I get back on my art feet, but so far the search results have offered nothing but gas station cashier jobs and night-time custodial positions at the hospital, neither of which thrill me. Today we found the Chamber of Commerce and I got a list of organizations and some volunteer opportunity ideas, which is fortunate because lately when I am at the grocery store and see a woman remotely my age I have to refrain from being all, "OH HI I AM NEW IN TOWN I SEE YOU ARE HUMAN AND ALSO YOUNG, WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND? I WILL MAKE YOU A PIE IF YOU SAY YESPLEASEHANGOUTWITHME OH GEEZ I AM SO LONELY."

I've also unreasonably been trying to get J to pimp me out to any women he's met at the college who seem to be roughly my age and nice. So far the people I've met here have been mostly elderly neighbors and cashiers, all of whom, when they ask what I do and I say I'm an artist, get a baffled look and say, "Huh" or "Okaaaay" and possibly think I am crazy or maybe that I sit at home doodling pictures of Loony Tunes characters and fancy cars with ballpoint pen in wide-ruled notebooks while Judge Judy is on, and I totally do not do that. J has mentioned when he says to people at the college that I'm an artist they are positive and excited, which is why I am all, "WELL, DID YOU GIVE THEM MY NUMBER? DID YOU TELL THEM I WOULD LOVE TO HANG OUT? I WOULD LOVE TO HANG OUT."

You see how things are going. Let's hope this list of organizations pans out, yes?

I'm happy we're here, honestly, and can not express that enough. Incredibly happy. I love it and it's such a good job move for J and our house is awesome and art is awesome and I love that we moved here. I suppose adjustments are hard and for a while I suppose I will continue to find solace in feeding birds and eating chocolate ice cream, and eventually I will stop weeping and eventually that cat will stop acting like an asshole and eventually the dog will get used to the backyard enough to take a piss without having to mourn the fact that there is dew here in the morning, and he has to step in it.

Off to art,
black sheeped