DISCLAIMER: I swear to the Universe that I am not actively trying to be overdramatic or trying to have some “crisis” happen to me every week for variety sake and/or a blog post…in fact, if I could get a good solid week where there is no “crisis”, that’d be swell…
In a world that is riddled with unexplainable obstacles that decide to pour down all at once, this girl needs a Kit-Kat.
It’s been less than a month, and already another surgery has to be scheduled. Not for me yet, but this time, for Ollie McGee. A big mass popped up on his shoulder last week, and the only solace I have for this current plight is that I decided to take him to the vet last weekend instead of doing what I was planning which was give it a couple weeks before I did anything, because I figured, I always overact to health situations, so it’s probably nothing.
Well, it ain’t.
Don’t exactly know what it is yet (where have we heard this before?) but it has to be removed in order to test for things like malignant tumors or in other words…cancer. CANCER. If ever there was a word in the English language that is said with such disgust. And can we please stop with the tumor theme running through this household?! The hilarious thing is – Ollie doesn’t know what the hell is going on. If he was not eating or constantly begging for food or attention, I’d be all concerned. But he literally has no idea what is in store. He just wags his tail and licks the salt tears from my face.
I know it’s too early to tell, but it’s just one.more.fucking.thing. The pessimist in me fears the worst and totally says bad things happen when you move to LA. The optimist in me says – the universe only gives you what you can handle, at least you didn’t wait too long, and thank god for credit cards. I am feeling neither side winning at the moment, so I’ll just go back to watching the finale of Downton Abbey with Ollie on my lap.
Where’s my fucking Kit Kat?
