Ew. With a capital Ew.

Greetings, neglected blog readers! 

It has been a busy, busy time, so I haven’t had much of a chance to share the latest CCL antics—but trust me, they have been a plenty!

Someone remind me later to tell you about her fantasy of slaughtering her parents.  In the meantime, I’m sharing today’s fun…

I should back up by stating that my intended plan each Monday is to come in to the office & as soon as she starts griping, I will cut her off & tell her I am tired of general negativity around me and thus, only interested in surrounding myself by positivity.  The problem is that Monday mornings are always mayhem & my well-intended plans go by the wayside & before I know it, I’m stuck in the black hole known as CCL’s life.  Perhaps I need to set a calendar invite to remind myself of what it is I need to do right off the bat some Monday morning. 

This morning, as is the case every Monday morning, CCL was all-consumed lamenting the horrible weekend she inevitably has each week.  I was kind of hoping her anti-anxiety medications would help lessen how horribly she views her every waking moment, but they haven’t done much.  As I was pondering this the other day, combined with thoughts of her therapist visits & recalling how she so many times complains that none of it is helping, I was reminded of something—drugs and therapy can only do so much.  Until she decides to make changes in her life, it will be the same routine.  This weekend, however, she made a change—she cleaned.  And not just any room—the cats’ room.

The gripe came because she says she threw out her back while carrying a 42-lb. bag of cat litter up the stairs so she could get their room cleaned out & change out their litter.  In casual conversation, I pretty much learned that she doesn’t clean out the cat litter & just kind of lets it sit and stink.  Now, that is absolutely disgusting in my book, but what makes it even worse is envisioning just how much awfulness must exist in that room if it takes 42-lbs. of litter to swap it all out.  My dogs’ food bags don’t even weigh that much—and it’s enough food to last the two of them a whole month.

Last week or the week before, the complaint was about how she bought a recycling bin over the weekend, but it turns out to be a little too wide for the space she wanted it in—but she has no more floor space or counter space in her kitchen, so she wasn’t sure what to do.  I have already decided she’s a hoarder, but that info pretty much sealed the deal—and this latest revelation of just how horrible her house must look & smell completes the big picture for me.  And, dear friends, it is not a pretty picture.

Sigh.