After long silence, he returns. Somewhat worse for wear. And apparently unable to hit the keys right. This might take a bit to write...
This is just another "I'm alive" thing. I'm not really back, I just needed familiar grounds to grumble on. Things have been a mess, and I am, too. Mostly because everything looked kind of okay back in August (except for being unemployed, but that's a common problem, so...). I had returned from the US, and my cat was slowly understanding that I was the guy who had left him in the care of others. The furnace had imploded in my absence, AGAIN, but after several repairs (luckily covered by product insurance), it actually works now. No breakdowns, just heating my house. I have even recently had the house insulated, cutting my heating costs in half. So what's the problem?
My cat was acting up. I figured he was bored. I live in the boonies, and there are few other cats here to play with. So I got a litter of three kittens (one would be risky, my cat would bully it, and I didn't have the heart to pick one of the triplets to not take). Alex, Charlie and Dylan, named from the Charlie's Angels movie. All girls, btw, so no alpha dominance trouble. Things were getting better. I was getting job interviews, I was feeling better, the furnace worked, all good.
Early november, I hear a crash from the kitchen late at night. I go out to find Alex, one of the kittens, fumbling about. She can't stand up right, she knocks into things, and is horrible unwell. No animal hospital within miles, so I end up paying about 1000 Danish Kroner (about 180USD) for a taxi to the nearest animal hospital, to find out she has eaten a poisonous mouse (they apparently run around after eating rat poison). A night of Hell as I wait to know if she survives. I sleep in the common room of a hostel, because they effing room system is broken (at least it was free, because of that). But Alex survives. I am shaken and feel like shit from then on, especially because she now has issues about eating, but just knowing she is alive and getting well is enough to make me happy.
On December 13th, she doesn't show up for her morning meal. She's nowhere. I start fearing she has eaten another poisoned mouse. But for safety's sake, I go out to see by the road. She looked like a small pile of dirt at first. Crows over her. I finally realize it's because there is very little of her in the pile. Not even a face. Bones are crushed, sticking out, limbs missing. I spend over an hour picking up the pieces of her, just to bury her. Hours later, I walk out there again. I find her hind leg 3-4 meters from where her body was. That night I wander that place. And two F**king ILLEGAL STREETRACERS nearly run me down. THAT is what can not just kill but utterly rip an animal apart, getting hit at over 100km/h by some subhuman dips**t who needs to risk the lives of others to get his jollies off.
The next day, I find the rest of her jaw. I still walk that stretch now and then, thinking I might have missed a piece of her.
I basically crashed after that. Christmas was a fight just to not be a wreck. I use willpower to not throw up when I remember the event, and I have basically resigned myself to my house. I know animals die, but I have never, ever, had to pick up the bloody stumps of a loved one, bit by bit, because some death-deserving turd cares more about speed than the lives of others. Needless to say, I have vivid fantasies of seeing them skid out, flip through fields, and burn alive. I am not the same nice person I was any longer.
That's not a nice story. Sorry about that. I have crashed mentally, even to some extent physically, from the experience. I am trying to pick up the pieces, but it's harder than ever. It's not frustration or anger or even sadness. My brain has shut a lot of itself down, and refuses to open those parts up again. I'll be working on it for a while. We'll see the results.
I am still working on a solution for The Embassy, and actually have a plan. A somewhat realistic one, even. I hope to get things moving soon, but I must admit, it is with a colder heart and heavier mind. And with three lovable cats who are pissed that they don't get to go out at night any longer. Not gonna lose more on those #¤#¤#¤% and their illegal streetracing. If they want to hit something of mine again, I do have an old board with long nails in the shed. Crash and burn, f**kheads. Crash and burn.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. May 2017 be less of a s**tshow than 2016 (just learned that George Michael and Carrie Fisher are both dead, too. Go to Hell, 2016...)
Edit: Oh yeah, I'm also broke as f, because it cost a fortune to save Alex the first time, and people close to me made some questionable financial choices that I''m helping fix. If anyone knows where I can sell bodily fluids for a five-digit cash sum, let me know, aight?!