Potty Mouth

I am become more and more convinced that the driving force in all societies pretty much boils down to who cleans the toilets and why. And as far as I can see most of modern culture has been a concerted effort by white men to yell “not it!” I used to think social order was pretty much driven by access to pussy but this theory has a correlation in that prime pussy is rarely found in the company of janitors.

Since it has been increasingly difficult to force minorities, women and subjugated cultures to do the deed I’ve noticed a new trend, which is to train “the mentally deficient” into this position. While on the one hand I think it’s great to provide job training for the developmentally disabled or persons with severe mental illnesses, I have issues with assuming that the scut work of society is the perfect niche from which they can can contribute. It’s a bit too “Brave New World” to feel really comfortable.

No one wants to be the “it” in this situation. So in the vein of “if they can put a man on the moon...”
If they can invent a self cleaning oven, why can’t they invent a self cleaning toilet?

On not going tharn

Decisions have been made and plans are being enacted. The great year long experiment of trying psych meds is over. I quit.

Well, to be scrupulously honest, I am quitting the systemic Buproprion and keeping the as needed Ativan. I have designed my step down program (and was told I was being too meticulous and to hasten) to get it out of my system. I will be done in fourteen days or less. (As opposed to the twenty-one days or more I had proposed).

So in future, while I still may be snotty, I will have the opportunity to experience other emotions as well. Which is all “hurrah for me”, as having a totally flat affect except for anger and anxiety was really, really, harshing my mellow, cramping my style, and all those other, turd in the punchbowl, type euphemisms, analogies and metaphors.

Now to be again, perfectly honest, I am being encouraged to try a different approach once my system has cleared out and normalized. Cymbalta was suggested. I have to admit that those commercials give me the green envies. All that “depression hurts” (yes, yes it does,) “Cymbalta can help” (Oh really? Ya promise?) does tweak my “I wish this was just fixed already, deep down, Stepford is bliss, can’t this be simplified so I can just do my bills like a normal person” jones.

I am however, taking a wait and see approach. Because as much as I am terrified of withdrawal from this fairly innocuous script, I am really terrified of SSRI’s. There are few things worse than coming down and/or withdrawal. It just takes all the fun out of drugs.

No really, who is the asshole here?

Opinions:
Me or the other?

Neighbor leaves cat out all day. It’s low 20’s, windy and blowing snow. I am talking about all day, since before 10am and it’s now 9pm. Still not home.

I just spent about an hour putting together a weird little shelter on the porch, bringing out food and water, trying to call the persons number and when not getting a call back, calling animal rescue to find out what the cat’s needs were likely to be. (Turns out there is no law saying you have to have a shelter for your outdoor cat. That sucks balls). Walking over to the “friend/SO’s” house to see if they were home and could let the cat in, NOT.
The cat was crying and climbing up the screen door!
Oh and also tried to call the neighbor who cat sits it.

But really, am I just totally a control freak who is so overstepping here?

Edit: The cat sitter called and gave me the authority and a code to let her in. So I grabbed all my crazy stuff and took it back home. Now I have my yard-sale cat carrier all scrubbed out and nice for my cats, so that is bonus, to get me off my ass to do that.