Gone crazy, BRB

It hit me today. The reality shitshow that this country has become.

I was in the Starbucks drive-thru and got a call from the vet.

I’d managed to kidnap one of the kitties today and took her in.

Where I was not allowed to be with her because no hoomins are allowed in the clinic.

Where they would only speak to me my cellphone despite the asshole who left his loud car running and the other guy who was playing REALLY GOOD R&B music, also loud.

Where I had to pay OVER THE FUCKING PHONE because no one wanted to touch my credit card. Forget gloves — someone put a condom over my BofA card information.

I literally had no idea what I signed myself up for.

So it’s like OK you need to get her this medicine and give it to her every two months. And a flea bath. And this, that and the other.

Me: Um, so do you have all this stuff available for purchase? It’s not like I can go walk into a store without waiting in line four hours and then not knowing if anything IS there because all the websites say you have to COME IN and see for yourself.

Them: Nope! Good luck.

Me: I did tell you this is a stray, right? How the f… Oh never mind.

Them: Didn’t you say you had another one you wanted to bring in?

Me: __

So yeah.

They managed to fleece me for some exams and treatments. Fine. Now treatments. Whatever.

Hopefully if she doesn’t hate me too much after this bullshit today, I can figure out how to treat her when I see her at night.

You know, when I can procure all this magical shit.

Meanwhile, I’ve probably exposed myself to all kinds of god-awful outdoor diseases, too.

Coronavirus is officially the least of my worries now. So there’s that.

But yeah. Not like you can waltz on in to any store, and find 20 of what you need on the shelf.

Not like you can order something online, and it actually a) LET you order it if you are not a healthcare professional, and/or b) GET IT sometime before June.

Meanwhile I have this moppet looking at me like, are you really going to put my ass back on the street after you just paid them beaucoup bucks to fix me up?

Maybe when I said my intention was to be my best self this year and be spirit’s messenger this (last?) month (what is time anymore, anyway …), I should have just asked for better decision-making skills.

In any event, Good Friday is a workday, so back in the saddle again. Is it Friday? Who am I?

The good thing about WFH is that day drinking is acceptable and, just my luck, the days are getting longer.

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