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I’m Sick of Taking Care of Things

One of the great beauties of childhood is that you aren’t expected to take care of anyone else. You are barely expected to take care of yourself. Yeah eventually you learn to wipe your own ass and pour your own juice, but mostly other people are responsible for your needs.

Once you are an adult, suddenly you are constantly servicing other beings. Sure you don’t have to get an animal, spawn a kid, or be in a relationship. But if you make those life choices, those mother-fuckers are going to need something from you – ALL THE DAMN TIME!

Sometimes you are in a caregiving mood and feel fulfilled by fulfilling the desires of others. You might make gourmet food for your dog, lovingly fold your child’s laundry, or rub your lovers feet… then go home and have to do the same thing to your spouse because that is only fair.

Yet there are days where I can barely feed myself, let alone be accountable for the lives of others. Sometimes I really don’t want to be depended on, and have minimum capacity for pulling it together enough to attend to someone else.

This afternoon was one of those days.

Munch came home from gymnastics, and I told her she had to clean her room. She asked me to help her, which consisted of me doing everything because she was busy “cleaning” her toy… that she was actually just playing with. I didn’t have the energy to fight. When she asked to watch TV my only response was “I don’t care,” which she took as an enthusiastic YES. Thank goddess Munch is not a frat boy at a college party.

As The Munch was watching her stupid show, I had to make her dinner. As I was preparing her meal, my cat Omega started getting in my way because she was hungry. So I fed her. Then my business partner called to tell me we didn’t have enough money to pay rent, just as Omega vomited her food on the kitchen table.

I got off the phone to clean up the puke as my dog Mona comes in the house with three giant disgusting ticks in her ear. They had been sucking on her blood for days, and were grossly engorged. I had to rip them out and s I did, one burst – spraying blood all over me. I got up to get a paper towel and Omega then puked again on the counter.

Then Munch comes in asking for me to get her juice with water, which I can’t yet do because I spot another tick on Mona. I get the tick out, and clean up the remaining puke as I watch the cat puke yet again on Munch’s lunch box. I then hear Munch ask, “Where’s my Juice?” as I wipe up the third vomit… debating putting it in a cup for Munch to drink.

Here are the morbidly obese ticks

take-care