Omar.

My dog isn't doing so well.

Before I continue with this post, I'd like to introduce you to my dog. Omar is a Shih-Tzu my family got as a 9 month old puppy about 14 years ago. I can remember the day we bought him. I remember my mom giving us a choice of getting this dog or going to Old Country Buffet for dinner. (Like we would choose anything over the adorable, pathetic-looking, flea bitten puppy that was so enthusiastically playing with us. I remember the drive home where we were all trying to decide on a name for him. My brother kept insisting we name him after Omar Vizquel, one of his favorite players from the Cleveland Indians. I didn't like it because I didn't like the Cleveland Indians, nor baseball for that matter, (still don't,) but my mom liked it, too. Since we were ultimately getting a Shih-Tzu because she wanted one, she got the final say and his name was Omar. Even so, the name fit him, and I quickly grew to love it for him. I remember playing Frisbee with him and our other dog, Sam; how Sam was so good at bringing the Frisbee back, while Omar would rather take it and chew on it and not let her steal it back. I remember him stealing our socks all the time and us finding them in odd places around the house.

When we had to put Sam down, it was hard. She was the first dog I ever remember having. I was 17 and she was 14. We grew up together. After she was gone, Omar kind of became my baby, especially now. When I'm home, I'm always taking care of him and I always try to bring him up to sleep with me at night. He's my baby, he's 15, and now he's not doing so well. It's hard.


Today, after I had tried to call my mom earlier only to have my brother answer and tell me she was at the vet with Omar, my mom called me while I was at dinner with some friends. She understands how much I love Omar, so she wanted to let me know how the vet visit was. She took him in because of what turned out to be a hematoma on his ear that she was worried about. That wasn't all she found out. Not only that, but he's got ear infections, no moisture in his eyes, and either a possible tapeworm or diabetes. Most of the stuff is fixable - the hematoma isn't much to worry about, he's got stuff for his ears and eyes, and he's on a deworming medicine. All we have to do is hope is that he's got a tapeworm because we can't afford insulin shots if he's got diabetes. And if he's got diabetes... Well, the outlook isn't too good.

I was nearly crying at dinner with my friends, which is something I don't do. I don't like crying in front of other people. Thankfully, I suppose, no one noticed. I'm crying now, again. I can't even think of what might have to happen without the threat of tears. It's just really hard right now and I wish I could be home with him. I miss him so much.

Because of you.

I don't have a best friend. I don't have a friend who I know every little thing about. Who I can call up whenever and talk about anything. I don't have a friend who knows me better than I know myself sometimes. I don't have any of that.

Sure, I have friends. I have some really good friends who I care so much about, but I'm too terrified to let them get too close. Why? Because of you. You were my best friend. We used to do everything together. Then one day, you stopped talking to me. Completely stopped. You ignored me. I don't even know why. I don't even know what I did to deserve that. One day we were best friends. The next day you hated me. Everyone hated me. I didn't fucking do anything, yet no one liked me. What did I fucking do to you to deserve that?!

Now, I can't let anyone get to close anymore. I can't let go. I can't be vulnerable. I can't be completely honest. I can't trust anyone completely anymore and it's your fault. I can't do any of that because I'm too afraid someone will do the same thing to me for the exact same reason and I don't even know what that reason is. It's not fucking fair. As much as I try to tell myself it wasn't me, and that it was you and your pathetic, immature family, I can't stop being afraid it will happen again.

Fuck you, bitch. I thought I had forgiven you and moved on, but I don't know if I ever will. Fuck you.

Inability to Act One's Way Out of A Paper Bag.

I'm a crap actress. As much as it sucks to say it, it's true. I really don't know why I keep picking majors that involve it.

It's not even that I'm just plain crap at it, either. In my head, I'm actually quite good. I know that sounds funny, but I don't mean it in a delusional way. I mean that I know what things make up a good actress and what one needs to do to act well, but it's all stuck in my head. I can't just let go. I think it comes from a fear of being vulnerable, which is the worst fear to have for an actress, because acting (for the most part) is incredibly vulnerable. No, you're not playing yourself, but you have to let yourself go completely to play the part. You have to let yourself feel the emotions, go through the actions, and be the character.

I know all this, yet I can't let myself go. I can't let myself be vulnerable. It's terrifying to me, and I kind of really suck at facing fears.

So I suck at acting.

I should probably find something to do with my life that doesn't involve it. Trouble is, I don't know what.

Fuck.

I don't even think anyone reads this anymore.

Yes, it is 5:30am.

I am nearing the end of an all-nighter I pulled in order to finish a French project that's due tomorrow afternoon. I probably finished around 5 minutes ago and I'm at that stage of sleep deprivation where everything is heavy and slow. I've been marathoning an energy drink all night to stay awake. I should remind myself not to get the orange Amp next time. Much too jittery. I should really just stick with the purple one. If it weren't full of high-fructose corn syrup and other very not good things for you, I think it could cure cancer, that's how well it works for me.

As you can tell, I'm also in the random rambling stage of sleep deprivation, with a hint of "What the hell was I just thinking two seconds ago?" Tomorrow, or this morning, or whatever... At 9am. There. At 9am, I have a sight singing quiz. It's probably a good thing he drops the lowest grade because I can't imagine this quiz being particularly good.

I'd go to bed, but I have to be up in about 2 hours, and I don't foresee myself actually waking up to a full force hurricane with an earthquake added in, let alone my alarm, so no sleep it is. Tomorrow has the potential to be frighteningly interesting because of it.

Tomorrow is also the beginning of Homecoming weekend, which means everyone will be drinking, even though our campus is a "dry campus." I might be one of those people. I have yet to mix alcohol with sleep deprivation, so I'm not sure how that will pan out exactly.

I think I feel my body vehemently shouting "FUCK YOU I WANT TO GO TO SLEEP NOW!" Oh, body, how I wish I could.

Untitled.

I don't let people get too close.



That way, it doesn't hurt so much when they leave.

Harboring an Illegal*

(*I realize that "illegal" is not politically correct. Know that I would not use it if I were talking about an actual undocumented immigrant.)

So, this weekend I've been harboring an illegal kitten in my room. The friends of mine who she belongs to were both out of town for the weekend and asked me to watch her while I was gone. Not being one to pass up a weekend with a cuddly, furry animal, I jumped at the chance. (Might have literally jumped in my seat. I was a little drunk at the time of the offer.) It's been an interesting experience.

Firstly, this is really my first time taking care of an animal ALL BY MYSELF. I have a dog at home, but I'm not the only person who lives in that house, so there's always someone there to help out if I'm busy or something. While this is my first time taking care of an animal all by myself, this is actually not the first time I've helped harbor an illegal animal. About a year and a half ago or so, I helped my friend Casey take care of a dog for a friend in her apartment. Let me tell you, taking care of Tipsy the kitten has been A LOT easier. Tipsy doesn't get poop all over herself for one thing, and she's significantly quieter. Secondly, this is pretty much my first time really taking care of a cat. I've always been a dog person, (my dad hates cats,) and most cats I know seem to not be a big fan of me. We had a cat in my house for a month once while my cousin was in basic training, but I didn't do much on the taking care of part and she hated my dogs. (Omar loved her, however, regardless of how many times she swatted him with her claws.) I've never really been a cat person. Until now.

I love this kitty. She is the most adorable thing I've ever seen. If it weren't illegal to keep her here, I don't know if my friends would ever get their cat back. Right now she's on my bed, which she's pretty much claimed as her sleeping quarters, cuddling up next to my stuffed dog. She loves that thing. She actually tries to nurse from it. (I've read online that it's a sign she was taken from her mother too soon, which is sad, (I blame the people who were giving her away,) but it's so adorable.) Even the fact that she seems to rather want to use the corner of my carpet as a litter box than her actual litter box doesn't bother me enough. (She's getting better, though.) I feel we have a very Mufasa/Simba relationship, since she's learning to pounce and she decided it was a good idea to jump all over me at 7am this morning wanting to get up when I clearly wanted to sleep longer. (Here's hoping I don't get killed in a wildebeest stampede anytime soon.)

I've always wanted a dog of my own and still do, but I really want a little kitty now, too. :D