flagrant disregard

here we go again. this morning i have all of the symptoms which put me into the hospital on thursday with the addition of muscle fatigue, bad cramping in my extremities, and 'a dizziness which interferes with walking.' this current dizziness differs from my typical orthostatic hypotension (starving, dehydration, blackouts) in that i feel kind of drunk. i think i am going to go to the emergency room again--but cannot help but think the situation seems a bit ridiculous.

consider: how to manipulate my phosphorus levels without intravenous intervention? the composition of my food unit needs to be adapted. obviously, its sodium content must be extremely high to keep throwing my levels off. how to implement those changes, though? even if this is physically disastrous for a few days, resident doctor #4 doesn't want to change The Plan because it's mentally comfortable for me. this is the most important element-- any instance of mental discomfort with this food and everyone knows i will cut and run. perhaps i need to spend a lot of time under observation until my first successful week balances out.

some horrible part of me insists on noting that if i were following my normal old disordered plan and not trying to adhere to grueling digestion, none of these current health problems would be happening.

for the record, being admitted to the hospital for disordered phosphate metabolism was great fun. good thing, since this refeeding process is extremely touchy and i will again return to a mechanical hospital bed sooner rather than later.

now i am home but need to visit the clinic lab to have blood chemistry analysis done daily for the next two weeks. after these 14 days, if i manage to get on this food plan, it should go down to only having blood drawn twice a week.

this complication in electrolytes was brought on due to simply exchanging one edible for another and then adding half of a nutritional supplement to the daily food plan. the supplement was essentially a sports nutrition recovery drink. this watery mixture only provided an additional 40 calories, but its composition of electrolytes was too intense on my impaired kidneys and imbalanced the system. the edible had less than 15 calories, and its sodium content was extreme, but the resultant problems were neither intentional nor expected. needless to say, thoughts of continuing with this edible and supplement have been terminated.

my food plan has reverted to 'tolerate and then try to maintain' the initially prescribed food unit. i am glad to send the sports drink to hell, because it was difficult to allow a liquid energy source. the edible held a steady balance between acceptable and enjoyable-- not great, but not an experience of mental discomfort, either.

[[** a long time ago, the physician who headed a university eating disorders clinic i was at had told me to refuse fruit juices and write off any nurse or dietitian who promoted them. "even 100% fruit juices are nutritionally insignificant considering what you need," he said. "never bother with juice unless you are delirious or blacking out." that day saw the birth of the 'Delirious Juice Is Only Allowed When En Route To The Emergency Room' Rule. aside from my Delirious Juice (or the occasional trial in myoplex sport nutrition, which is dense in vitamins) liquid calories are incomprehensible. this recent sports nutrition drink was a difficult challenge (mentally) to a long standing rule and not so much to the mathematics of caloric intake. calorie-wise, i could have restricted a portion of another food to balance the numbers if it was upsetting. **]]

so, back to The Plan:
- 280 - 320 kcal prescribed food unit
- divide these calories over the course of one day
- a quarter of a trazodone or ativan tablet in the evening
** trazodone/ativan offer sedating properties, which could help

my current interpretation of The Plan:
- 280 - 320 kcal food unit
- ingested all at once, around 11:00pm
**this is the only option given the current situation
- no medicines due to strong rebound depression and anxiety
**rebound effects make it impossible to attempt food the next day
- apocalyptical insomnia, followed by fits of abstraction

the reality of the food unit and all interpretations of The Plan:
- there has been no food unit success since last sunday night
- getting through sunday night with food is damn near impossible
**it's sunday again
- yesterday was terrible enough to think The Plan will eventually work
**The Plan is honestly better than 'Life Without The Plan'
- i revealed secrets which complicate and invalidate The Plan
**meaning, now other people cannot inadvertently interfere

consider: not just knowing, but accepting that my body is extremely underweight and subsequently has a heightened hypersensitivity. nothing which i think feels important should be invalidated or thought to be an overreaction. if i think something feels off with my body and needs attention, no doubt it does.

at the current time, it remains hard to accept that my body is so exhausted from this process, that merely one deli pickle and a part of a crisp apple flavored 'clif shot packet' was extreme enough to begin shutting down my kidneys, respiratory, and cardiovascular system.

wednesday=
- tried different flavored recovery mixture
- allergic reaction, chemical imbalances, and kidney problems
- did not attempt the rest of the food unit

consider= this was the third bad day in a row. i could tolerate (and need to tolerate) the food unit but it must be consistent. (the safety, or calm stemming from its security was much nicer than feeling this sick. the safety was not without 'pain' but that side of discomfort seems much easier to attend.) i don't think i can screw with any change in variety or flavor in the food unit right now. in my mind, i think only a change in calories can cause a distress, but my body mass seems to have reached the cutoff to welcome allergies. i'm having problems with wheat and food colorings-- and have noticed that after a year without problem, i am suddenly allergic to my shampoo and certain fabrics again.

my perfect life plan:
- did not try to process food.
- lived off air.
- walked, talked, had ability to transact, rant, etc...


resident doctor #4's plan:
- start very, very low, and only advance the food unit very slow.
- lassitude! intracellular hell! keep restricting that dextrose!
- this recovery protein and electrolyte formula is offending my kidneys.
- i have recently dropped below my allergy/intolerance threshold.
- excipients are bothering again.
- waiting to die. <--- death is bad, no?
AND this drop in weight is a bit berserk...what will it inspire?


i have an appointment with an internist tomorrow (at ucla, not in new york). the problem is that i have pretty darn good insurance coverage this time around and therefore no excuse to try to refuse a hospital bed. the exaggerated expense in my mind usually counters all physical importance. if i am coherent, why not suffer in a cheaper bed at home?

"fedex delivers to my gallery on friday morning. i need to let the driver in." that's not going to work, is it? actually, i don't feel well enough to attend the appointment. if i arrive, i may actually want to stay.

tuesday= food unit distress

+ three unexpected daily life stressors
+ food unit timing was wrong
+ ritual was wrong
+ setting was wrong
+ 'part #4' of the food unit was wrong

a professor i know asked if i would be willing to act as an advisor to one of her graduate students at cal state northridge. the student is working on a project related to that which i know best. what are the chances the student lives across the street from the cal state campus and is undertaking this subject and graduate degree outside of a career to fill a personal interest? rare to none-- which means i have been asked to mentor a person who not only applied to a reduced university, but accepted the offer. fucking kill me. this query is causing me so much goddamn grief that this post should detail two recent and related psychotic experiences.

consider:
- offend the professor by declining the torment
or,
- have potentially lethal buttons pushed by a blunt individual

"hmm, your body is finding its equilibrium," said my physician, locating a much better way to define the unusual experiences stemming from this frustration. if i have been perceiving language, the layers of trauma must be deeply isolated.

unfortunately, my symbolism is apt to be misinterpreted or vocabulary will turn into mere fable by the common desk dweller. why not confuse as to whether i manipulate The Everyone's perception or my own?

[to be edited/ reserved: how attempting a food unit is backwards without metaphor. how my body feels too exhausted to live through each night and i have written this a billion times now but it is important enough to keep mentioning.]

monday= intentional food unit distress

[to be edited:]
"do you think you are getting worse, tristan," he asked
AND then immediately proceeded to agree with my answer.

a few times this week i have been able to not only process, but to slightly feel safe with accepting prescribed units of food. the amounts may be minimal, even more restricted than when 'new to the problem' or actively trying to reduce, but this calm is a feeling which has not been comprehended since elementary school. this is an interesting time because the previous sentences illustrate something positive but right now this illness is much worse.

sunday= food unit success (!)

[to be edited/ reserved for the problem with sunday:]
i don't know how to proceed with a food unit tonight. there is a weekend Rule ("no") but more importantly, sunday is a perpetual problem due to a standing appointment on monday morning.

how to tolerate a food unit and then let the catastrophe out of the house? just as it once made no sense to leave the safety of home to receive a doctor's evaluation relating to agoraphobia, wires would cross if i needed to take nutrient-rich blood to see a physician for anorexia. nothing deserves attention if it falls short of worst or best case scenario. i cannot eat and then be seen outside of my home during the 24 hours following the process.

last monday= food unit success
last wednesday= food unit success
saturday= food unit success

is maintaining three out of seven days of a food plan considered more or less than barely hanging on? this is truly pathetic because the food plan itself seems to be so embarrassingly soft that even i think it should be tolerable.

it's a strange time. my basal metabolic rate has increased and my body definitely requires more food to get me through the day-- but additions cannot take place yet. the first problem is how the food plan is essentially a rule relating to the specifics of intake and i am rigid enough to maintain this no matter the tragedy. the second problem is that the mental chaos is just now beginning to calm down. as it stands, there is no way i would allow any increase in calories to feel safe. the last problem is physical and relates to complications of [nutshell: trying to avoid cardiovascular collapse, incorporation of phosphate/contractile properties of the heart, the increase in the total circulatory blood volume, etc...] calories can only be added slowly and i am not supposed to currently process more.

afternoons=
- mostly spent zoned out in front of this screen.
- usually take two short, nightmare-filled naps.
- tried countering this by taking illicit drugs. (not 'illegal')
[they are too potent and put me right to sleep.]

evenings= 5:00pm+
- finding myself too weak to speak at full volume.
- feel frustrated at the situation.
[getting better: temporarily dropping under xxlbs and feeling like death?]
- there is no emotion behind the hunger.
[hunger: it has no normal elements of frantic obsessiveness.]
- i keep considering getting the food unit early in the day, but the 'work' aspect trumps activity.

late night= 10:30pm
- usually secure the day's food unit.
- can barely gather the energy to walk out the the car.
- end up waiting in the car while [person] shops.


problem:
this current food unit is supposed to be divided over the course of one day instead of taking the calories in all at once. for a variety of reasons i cannot obtain the food any earlier than late at night. [one of the reasons is a bad attitude: "i have anorexia nervosa so what fucking sense does it make for me to go out and obtain food when i don't ever fucking want any to begin with? hell if i am going to be the one to ever go, do, or pay for it."] also, trying to manage this food once per 24 hours is very touchy on my digestive system. it's easy to drink too fast and then for my body to suddenly hiccup and throw up unassisted. [remember: "glamorous problem," said the book.]

consider:
convincing my physician that the current food plan should remain at one food unit for another week until the safety aspect is totally secure-- but then there is the part about how i feel too exhausted, as though i might not live through each day. trying to place a portion of the food unit at an earlier time in the day could only happen if active, preoccupied, and away from the house-- but that processing is going to further exhaust me.

food unit success = technically defined as refeeding = physical exhaustion = fear cellular disruption + hospital beds + a future of metabolic events + fear the syndrome.

consider the food fatigue + needed to split up the Illicit Stimulant to endure a course of DAILY LIFE + swallowed the tablet in its entirety = initial amplification of LIFEBOX = Illicit Stimulant was strong enough to excite heartparts but countered common maniacal experiences by knocking the count out = consider less Illicit Stimulant + consider more Illicit Stimulant = too rigid with ocd switches to make decisions without a Rule + too strict to adapt units of the food plan because it was provided by Authority + the omnipresent need to persist = LIFEBOX will frighten = teach.

still mostly staring into space = joking to self that this zoning out has nothing to do with energy expenditure or deadly metabolism, rather, it relates to dissociation + the recent excess + the concept of "don't let me know what i just let myself do" + the enormous expense + "i finally WANT and what i WANT is to not have to think about it" + the spontaneous purchase of a condo + all of those zeros + funny how on monday i refused to buy a new pair of shoes since they are certain to come down in price another $20 = ha ha ha + pushing The Nutcase to wax and wane in extremes has paid off very well + i would have a hard time trying to argue against it.



consider: how i accepted this food plan/Rule/structure because the Numbers/calories were safe and the voice of Authority/physician was directing the passion. blatant and temporary, Authority/physician paralleled the same paternal vein as REX/anorexia. now metabolism is at an amphetaminic level and the LIFEBOX/body is slightly denting/losing weight, but since there is a food plan/Rule/structure the Numbers/calories cannot fluctuate/ Rule must stand.

consider: how i will return to Authority/physician expecting an increase in my Numbers/calories. this is where Authority/physician will change to Authority/REX/anorexia and the safety/weight loss found in this food plan/Rule/structure will disregard health and persist.

AND it's no secret the food plan/Rule/structure initially felt like freedom but any increase in Numbers/calories is not subject to implementation/ Rule is NO/ brainparts cannot accept YES.

consider: how proving a point and diving into dangerous places can initially appear to be proactive/health.

consider: how it also took a splinter of proactive/health, which was formerly unavailable, to process this point.

consider: this maladaptive approach used to clear one's throat before finding the voice.

untitled, magne f-- paul stolper gallery

this afternoon i packed up paws and drove him over to chuck's house. i was to only drop the cat off, but decided to hang around awhile and use the computer. a few people arrived to the door of a nearby unit and proceeded to conduct their business in a very loud manner-- it was obvious that one woman was a realtor. not only did i overhear her speak of the unit's foreclosure, but the moron also recited the combination for the hanging lock box as she spun the dial to access the key.

after their discursive conversation ended, i 'broke into' the condo to confirm the floor plan, its hardwood floors, and the general condition. the condo appears to have been completely renovated within the last year. it's not all wonderland though, as the balcony does overlook a parking lot, and the kitchen appliances may be new, but they are of standard quality.

documents found in the kitchen states the bank wants [under $200K].
i have confirmed that identical units have recently sold for $420,000.

consider:
- as foreclosure deals go in los angeles, this is as good as it gets.
- the owner only owed [under $200K] but then lost the property?!
- huge equity + couldn't get bailed out = grossly overspent?
- or perhaps the owner fell ill?
- this condo could easily rent out for $1500+/month.
- what's wrong with it?

hmm...

i returned paws to my house. the intention had been for him to stay with chuck while i attended an art reception in london, but why not kiss the excess? why fight it? why not trump my foreign weekend with the spontaneous purchase of another investment property?


[later:]
usually i feel an increase in ocd when involved in a 'large' transactions. it is not always limited to finances and could easily relate to a 'big change in daily life.'

i want to buy this condo and have no issue with admitting 'that i want it' or 'that the process of getting what i want is extremely easy.' only now have i noticed that those ritualistic ocd behaviors are unavailable to me tonight.

i don't know how to write about the situations which surround following a food plan. suddenly there is a safety attached to an unfamiliar domain. there is also a weirdness, disbelief, and subsequent chaos stemming from constantly trying to spectrum further and confirm that which does not exist.

i would like to mention three positive days out of five, which, if considering last year's total, is phenomenal, but i can't. the perspective of anorexia thrives and any implication of 'positive' remains a negative. exhausting metabolic processes are knocking me to sleep several hours each afternoon, but in regard to digestion, i am no more physically or mentally uncomfortable than normal. there should be a lot more to say about this process, but right now everything reflects back to a safe mental structure.

consider: daily caloric intake has yet to top 280-320...
consider: how fast i'll drop out when those numbers are increased?




it's finals week for the second term at caltech and i-- blaming an act of socialization during an otherwise quiet time -- now find myself owning a jpl "rocket school" tumbler. one side of this mug depicts a silly sketch of a rocket and states "fuel goes here, close cap tightly" but near, and referring to the moon, are the words "do not eat."

consider: "sarcastic rule #917470: do not eat the moon."

i love how these two scrawlings relate multiple personal sentiments and various levels of conflict. therefore, this is not merely an acrylic thank you purchased on a whim from the caltech bookstore--

this is a perfect gift!

unfortunately, my ocd is stuck struggling to confirm whether the complication of this bipolar mug will yield 'fluid Rules' or simply 'Rules pertaining to fluids.'


consider: my fluids already maintain the most stringent level of Rule.
consider: declaring a spit cup? (no!)
or,
consider: argument (variable) persist = fluid Rules

no, no, no... my week is not starting out with an e-mail from a professor suggesting we go kayaking next weekend.

i said 12.
my physician thought 10.
everyone knows it's 8.
AND listening to 8 is neither 12 nor 10 to scientist or synesthete.

my 12 refers to nights in 2006 without food rituals.
AND not necessarily nights with an intake of a food unit.

"we'll just say 10 nights with digestion in 2006."
[he'll just say.]

consider: more or less than 10, is more or less than 10.
consider: the fatness fullness of an incorrect 10.

someday, long after the surgical removal of DEATH's imprint, i'll come back to this post and say to myself, "see... right here. this post defines part of the problem. the business of 8 10 12 is the color of hyper and what amounts to never didn't shock you."

[sigh]

a perfect food unit plan is in place. very few [pathetic, nervy, hot] calories are to be divided over the course of each day.

AND water.
i keep forgetting about the water torture.

AND i am really too lazy to attend this languorous obligation.

AND F this calorie burning mastication, too!

[- chew/work - chew/work - chew/work -]

i don't want to be this busy because i know how to NO, you know?!

effort,
a chore.
AND after two successful food units, faint recollections.

i was provided with a food plan today.

consider: rule system?
consider: resident doctor #4 finally blinked!
or,
consider: people act differently upon seeing DEATH'S fingerprints.

i don't know if i can follow this plan.
[oh, of course i can do that.]

consider: food plan is difficult.
- numbers, weights, calories, that word dairy, rule breaking...
- i cannot currently write out the math due to embarrassment.

brain says, "it computes."
brain also says, "but our calculator is broken."

AND,
consider: food plan is pathetic.
- specifics remain secret to thwart future embarrassment.

i'm going to die if i follow this plan.
[i'm going to die if i don't do that.]

AND it gets weirder when an inquiry suggests complete understanding.

[paraphrasing an e-mail and adding comments in between brackets...]

AND what was resident doctor #4 [who is consumed with postdoc research in neurobehavioral genetics, brain mapping, body dysmorphic disorder, and will soon be ucla medical faculty- basically a gem] doing at a small potatoes clinic on a thursday? [i didn't ask, but yes, he is usually only available at that clinic on monday.]

AND did this out of character thursday meeting have something to do with: 1) all of the clapping heard from outside; [the clinic was holding a graduation ceremony for people who have successfully completed a drug and alcohol rehabilitation program. the applause also relates to how anything i do is *always* interpreted as well done- even when i am not up to my own level of par it still *always* trumps expectations.]

AND, 2) the different office? [yes, i assume it was quieter as it was located in the back of the clinic. it was a regular office with a desk and chairs, a huge window, and was very hot. ordinarily we see each other in a very large medical examination room (examination table, professional scale, diagrams of digestion hung on the wall) because the clinic lacks air conditioning and it is much more comfortable.]

AND how good/bad is it that you must forcefully shift forward rather than pull backwards to put the new vehicle into reverse? [i love the rhyme but i doubt many catch what this means: in my new foreign car, i need to forcibly shove the gearshift forward to put the vehicle in reverse-- it's quite an effort -- rather than simply shifting backwards. also: this new vehicle is symbolic of body, perspective, or health. living in reverse has been forward (normal for me, disordered eating) and true forward (normal) has been my reverse, but now forward is becoming the reverse, and to engage the reverse (which is the world's version of normal) i need to shove forward (engage, pay attention) etc etc...]

AND do you forget [never.]

or is it a constant reminder of life/death [a constant reminder of symbolism, but not of life and death. i couldn't have taken this problem as far as i have if seeing death in the daily symbolism.]

AND do/don't on simple drives? [no, i just laugh at how everything can act as a reminder to facilitate pathology, or grit and make the popular choice.]

AND does a transliterated street refer to foreign signage in an ethnic part of the city? [yes, the street sign had been written in both korean and spanish.]

AND etc... [AND you're onto it.]

thursday, an odd occurrence of resident doctor #4.

i parked on a transliterated street in reverse, to push ahead, but looking toward psychosis must evaluate it differently. when the damn keys got stuck in the ignition, the symbolism had really gone too far and i looked into the sky for a camera. suddenly a fastball beaned me on the head. mutter and walk. mutter and walk. why did i have to be called on the eye contact? resident doctor #4 kept me twenty minutes longer than our usual version of normal, but in an unfamiliar office, so tit for tat it even scratched out the embarrassment. this was all good.

AND so, i had told him i was a cat.
AND referred to my catness as a male.
AND then resident doctor #4 spoke about all of the whys.
AND do note how he never asks them.

when multiple dispositions were expressed by stating "i just hate how i see you, and you, and you see me" many invisible people applauded. resident doctor #4 did not seem surprised at the accolades. also, the phone rang and his eyes neither transacted light nor composure. consider how strange things must happen there a lot.

near the end i fell through the wall but one fingertip dragged and dog-eared reality. the walls were white but my fingertip was blue. since The Everyone falls for vocabulary rather than emphasising a magic of feeling, i, alone, could never worry about the white wall. AND seeing that the carpet was the same old familiar constellation, there really was no need to panic... but, i did anyway.

paws, sitting in front of a computer monitor

paws had been very sick over the last week, was chronically vomiting up white foam, and subsequently dropped down to four and a half pounds. the cat took to a corner of the bed, insulated himself under a flat woven camel wool rug, and made a nice sanctuary of kilim. aside from a few minor seizures, nothing provoked him to move. to put your ear to his body was to listen to the dead-- though paws was breathing, his physical machine was silent. those deficits were frightening.

apparently paws has a tumor which has grown large enough to block off and interfere with digestion, or an inflammatory bowel disease.

this doesn't make any sense-- chuck and i are certain his listlessness is related to packets of 'special kitty' cat food. paws was perfectly healthy last week. after allowing him to eat the wet packets of food for a few days, suddenly he refused everything, and was dying.

the veterinarian ignored our concerns about his change in food. veterinary diagnostics would involve anesthesia, and if a tumor was confirmed, an argument over reawakening. paws is also at an age where his stress matters more than any expense.

so, after a few days, and with that finality acknowledged (in concert with my emotional protocol) he died in my mind. just as everything else, since this relationship could not endure, it appeared to no longer exist.

time was sour-- persistent, annoying. i found myself mad rather than sympathetic. "isn't that the way it goes? now that i can afford the realm, it's you without time to spend." a receipt was fished from a drawer in the kitchen and its listing of an unopened bag of iams digestive care dry food was confirmed. mm-hmm, no way was i going to get screwed out of this $8.99 refund-- i kept mentally pushing him away. later one particular night, when visions of a quarantine-free international relocation began to tease and attract, i was a bit disturbed to recognize pathology.

what i did know:
- the more you run over a dead cat, the flatter it gets

what i didn't know:
- how to practice the other side
- engaging reverse in this vehicle takes muscle

what i did:
- winced at metaphor: vehicle for body/health/life
- recalled a session with my physician to turn emotion on or around
- scratched the bridge of the cat's nose
AND attempted ___________ with enunciated words.

"this little problem we have doesn't take away this moment now, does it?"

no, but, even though i was only talking to a pet
it it would take 500 moments to explain why i felt so corny

AND soft

AND perfectly ripe to be stabbed.

"it can't take away my memories. it doesn't take away yesterday... it doesn't take away the time we drove across the country and you howled out the moonroof at the stars each night."

"it doesn't take away the memory of the afternoon chuck and i returned home to find a bag of bagels empty, and you doing your listless boa constrictor impression on the tile in the middle of the kitchen floor... maybe that's your problem, eh? perhaps you just ate six bagels again and need time alone to digest."

a few days went by, and paws finally (and surprisingly) got up. he has been eating tiny licks of gerber's turkey baby food and is drinking a liquid supplement called 'cat sip.' this morning he finally abandoned the sick dish, tested out his new dry food, and relocated to a chair which holds his favorite alpaca blanket.

it's somewhat bittersweet in how we both have a place from which to return, and again, no real way to articulate the experience.
-----------------------


[updated: 3/20/07]
the veterinarian was wrong. the health of my cat's kidneys has been severely compromised due to the recent menu foods pet food product recalls.

currently paws is tolerating and alternating between a brand of dry food called 'the goodlife recipe' and 'whiskas' pouches. neither of these options are affected by the recall nor are specialty foods-- they are available on grocery store shelves. paws is very particular-- it's futile to expend toward science diet' formulas or another premium cat food.

there was a sunday coupon for $5 off printed in the newspaper which made a bag of 'the goodlife recipe' cat food free-- basically this was bought and then brought home without any expectations. paws loves it. the goodlife recipe website cycles through various promotions and occasionally sends out free coupons.

over the last few years, paws has refused all cat food except for 'iams dry' or 'special kitty' in the foil pouches. 'special kitty' is a wal-mart house brand and a recalled menu foods item. we knew the 'special kitty' was a horrible alternative and that menu foods was notorious for mistreating and testing on animals, but occasionally this was the only food paws would eat. he never liked 'whiskas' brand pouches before now, still snubs their 'tiny bites' version, but will eat it if fed the 'choice cuts' variety and it has been mashed up.

in regard to the baby food:
paws would tolerate "stage one" baby foods such as gerber "turkey and turkey broth" and beech nut "turkey and broth." these varieties are the tiniest jars of baby food and cost just under a dollar for approximately two ounces. though paws might taste homemade foods, such as a bite of prepared rice or vegetable, he would not eat any baby foods blended with vegetables, rice, or (obviously) onion. many brands of baby food reveal onion in the ingredient lists of even their most basic foods.


[updated: 4/12/07]
paws has stopped eating 'the goodlife recipe' dry food. i tried forcing him to eat it by refusing to supply any 'whiskas' pouches, but he will not touch it. a new bag was purchased in case the other was stale (this food is very hard) but the fresher food has gone untouched, too. i also bought a new bag of 'iams dry' but when fed, paws would not even walk near his bowl. he would occasionally stand six feet away from his food area, and stretch to peer at his dish to see if it had been changed. i hope he is just being fussy. he also doesn't want to have anything to do with the 'cat sip' supplement.


[updated: 4/28/07]
over the last two weeks, paws was still only eating 'whiskas' wet pouch food. in a way, i didn't want to mess with a good thing, but this food really gives him grief when using the litter box. it also makes him stink. the wet cat food is malodorous when compared to dry, the cat himself stinks, and the cat box becomes toxic after one use. plain canned pumpkin is known to be a good fibrous option to fix or regulate his problem, but, will he bother to eat it if i supplement his diet? probably not.

i reluctantly (and desperately) bought another new bag of 'iams dry' cat food the day before yesterday. paws went right over to it, ate it, and is now back to eating it full time. 'iams dry' has definitely reduced the problem relating to odor.

perhaps, after the catastrophe of the menu foods recalls, grocers and suppliers scrambled to clear, but still fill their grocery shelves. it seems impossible to have purchased two or three bags of stale cat food in a row, but considering the short time span and hysteria, this is probably what happened. the 'use by' dates which were printed on the bags claimed the food was fresh, but who knows where they had been or what most remaining and available stock had been put through that week.

[updated: 4/23/08]

paws died today. my mental health has improved tremendously since my last updates and i am greatful that my cat gave me a whole year to let go. his last year has basically been spent sleeping on the bed or sniffing at food.

i started cooking for him-- went to the grocery store for him daily. he did well with a large selection of 'human foods' but enjoyed plain, boiled pasta and rice, mixed in with canned salmon. paws was hungry all of the time-- obviously allowed to eat whatever he wanted but never taking much. the year has been a very slow deterioration, but this last month was horrible.

i started to accept that "he seemed fine, considering the circumstances" but may or may not be alive the next morning. i don't function too well when there is nothing left to do but wait. understand my anxiety disorder has been *unfathomably* crazy lately. this death of a pet is huge-- fifteen years of love. i'm scared to run into someone who suggests it is not.

two weeks ago, paws started coughing up blood, seemed to recover in full the next few days, but then slowly came down. the decision to euthanize was terribly heavy, because, who am i? i am not god. how to choose whether or not he was suffering? what if someone suggested that it was i who was suffering instead? that would not be true. i would have attended him forever. on his last day, his kidneys finally failed and there was no decision left other than to relieve him of hell.

i researched many reviews of southern california animal hospitals. understand that these reviews are mostly written from pet owners who have been presented with enormous bills, or have just gone through a trauma. (or both) knowing this, i still had a difficult time finding a recommended clinic. people suggested the employees at many facilities were cold and aloof.

i would like to recommend the mission animal care center in granada hills, california. this clinic may have been out of the way, but it has a good reputation. chuck and i were under great distress. the staff was excellent and extremely compassionate.

would responding to a birth announcement with a gift wrapped hardy-weinberg equilibrium calculator rank as a greater insult than simply ignoring it?

oh, monday.
oh, The Everyone.
i refuse to appreciate The Everyone but now--

never mind.

consider: someone has to shuffle information between units.
consider: that phrase about a stopped clock being accurate twice a day.

another quarter of a tablet managed its way down about an hour ago. i suddenly find myself shaking from its cold or bowing to the impressiveness of sulfamate moiety. in addition to this medicine promoting a 'lack of mental urgency' and therefore an odd disinterest in food, my energy balance is additionally fucked from pinging between a caustic level of sarcasm and simply zoning out. could this swing between attitude and apathy indicate the discovery of a best worst case scenario? if i insist on enjoying opposing points, let's stop stomping on heaven and motor on.

the act of swallowing this pill is another freudian equivalent of accepting a male provision. immaturity initially overcompensates by physically fluffing up in light of libido, but the eagerness and subsequent embarrassment will usually terminate the relationship. there is no rush to respond this time. if anything, it is withdrawn and in active recoil.

consider: physical chaos will reverse in an effort to find its grip.

there have been three interventions since the last entry.
it's still not tomorrow.
possibly tomorrow.

after a lifetime of falling for the urgency and endearment, the rehash must be profound: tomorrow will finally be better.

the statement never works. regardless of the true wince, or punch of sour blood after swallowing these shards of glass, it still sounds as though i shout out about the wolf. the language is confusing, too. consider what tomorrow means to The Everyone? AND how does my definition adapt from ‘one of these years’ to a word which means ‘monday?’

detailing every fear relevant to accepting inpatient medical care is impossible. how to allow the attachment to the claim? even when erotic, it remains dirty. AND every day since the exchange only calms due to a promise of being censored at night.

perhaps something critical pokes out of this flippant post. mm-hmm, right. AND perhaps tomorrow those tubes in my arms will restrict the fall for invalidation.

"...worried about the metaphor..."
consider: there isn’t one.

on wednesday afternoon, one quarter of a tablet partially closed my eyes but i certainly never took to bed. at the end of the day, structured behavior always overpowers any sedation. how could i complain when The Rule of ritual was designed to break through--

AND then did?

AND so i pushed the ritual to the store. AND then over to the next store. AND then The Rule maintained itself at a convenience store. AND the whitelights of certainty maneuvered down ventura boulevard until a song out of nowhere told me i'd never find god at the ralph's at vineland if this psychotic chain letter went unanswered. AND so i reluctantly practiced braille at a drive-thru atm with much stronger intentions to shop.

thank the never-found god that "i need to go to the bathroom" has the capacity to trump all insanity. still sparkled from hunger, but now questioning authenticity of mental impairment, the issue of ritual returned. fortunately, Fear kept house, but this also restricted the ability to secure any food for the night.

if i just let it sleep it will get real bad.
it needs ultimate attention even if it destroys the gift.

"this part is of tremendous importance," notes the reoccurring fits o'phrenia.

consider Fear. consider the blank billboard which requires blackness and portmanteau while blocking out the asterism. consider how to press on the what if when surrounded by a ho-hum approach. there is no predetermined answer when one cannot step out of the fucking car to investigate consequence.

let's assess a current DAILY LIFE which never unlatches the deadbolt. let's not and instead use one middle finger to slide the 'get out of jail free' card across the table while snidely ranting how The Everyone reeks of complacency. AND that gets old because it's no secret i refuse to know anyone and must therefore only refer to myflagrantself.

my complacency. my memoir. my habit of sedating the beasts who sleep over to silently process the night. my back and forth. my left to right places a pillow to the bone to avert uncomfortable spaces but the voice of starvation remains a mew.

"mew," i guess i said.
"oh, my fucking god,” said he who understands importance.

AND who needs peace from a pill when love can fall from thunder?
AND how that second of connection soothed...

when i tried taking this same tablet in november, nebulous calm summoned the silver lanugo as DAILY LIFE just fell away. good bye! AND good riddance. AND the weird part was in not knowing i had left. upon the return from somewhere grand, there never seems to be a way to articulate having lost the ability to open doors.