Dust Bunnies

I've decided that I need an attitude adjustment where dust bunnies are concerned.

I mean, they're kinda cute... I guess.
If you omit the part where they're a mixture of the combined DNA of the household - inclusive of pets - and random dust bits, dirt and food.

They don't require actual feeding - yet somehow, they grow.

They don't poop, have no vet bills. Really, as pets go, they're pretty 'low main'.

Yes, I accept that premise.

I will now consider my fluffy housemates... my pets. My companions. 

I've started naming them.

I have noted their personalities are tough to discern.

At least my fur and fin babies give me something to go on.

Not so much with these little guys. 

I have to assign colloquial traits based on their location in the house.

To give you a 'for instance'...

Dust bunnies from the bathroom tend to be a little snobbish. Having prime waterfront, and all.
The ones from the hallway tend toward wanderlust and wanton instability.
Where those that occupy the living, dining and rec rooms are the suburbanites.
Any from the upper floor are (of course) 'from away'and received as such by the rest of the house.

The kitchen dust bunnies however, are the 'down-townies'. 

They are chic.

They have grit. 

That's how I name them and how I give them voice.

Honestly, if you think about it, they really are the perfect pet.

...and even if you inadvertently suck the odd, errant one up in a vacuuming frenzy, there will be two more that spring to life inside the week.

For now, allow me to introduce you to Clive. Clive is 'from the hall'. That's really everything you need to know about him.

Though, I wonder...

Could the same principal be applied to emotional baggage?

Do you think?

Could I simply accept the bumps and bruises of my past, as... travelling companions?

Friends?

I have grudgingly pulled each and every one of them along behind me all these years... why not give them the attention they're due?

Maybe even name them?

Like we'd have:

Coke-Parent
Trigger Treachery
Fanny Fuckery
Mother Mayhem
Bank-zkreig
Wayward Spouse
Alcoholic Free-fall
Fatty Fatty Two by Four
Cerebral Hemorrhage
Stretch - the Destroyer (or Destructo, for short)
...and who could ever forget Narci?
Or more recently, Little-Big-Nutz?

Sure, sure... some names carry a particularly negative connotation. May be tough to make any sort of friendly motions in their general direction...

Am I a strong enough heart to truly forgive and be done with it all?

Yeah... fuck that!

I'm gonna bet my money on meds.

I have to say, I am feeling so much better since my doctor added something to my 'drug cocktail'.

Like So. Much. Better.

I find it so incredibly amusing how much I resent this fact. Like I wanted the drug to fail because... I wanted to have to struggle through this bullshit three times a year?
What am I, a masochist?

JeZus! My Christmas mania was hard enough, and it only lasts for two months, tops! The Summer stint starts in late April and though there is a dip and climb in late August/September before November hits, I have about 4 - 4.5 months of manic behavior that, thanks to my new anti-depressants, turns my protective layer of skin inside out - exposing my nerve endings to any and every irritant in the universe that feels like taking a poke.

This newly added gem takes all of that away! Apparently it doesn't mess with weight gain until you hit dosing up around 15mgs. I'm currently responding very nicely to 2mgs. That makes me happy. I can also add and subtract this one as the year progresses, so the drug ingestion can be kept to the bare minimum. This is important to me. I hate taking drugs!

All these damned prescriptions are interfering with my weed consumption! GAWD!!

So sweet Summer has begun. My chidlers are finished school for a couple of months and the lazy hazy, camping filled weekends ahead are looking more and more palatable as the days pass.

Colour me relieved!

So much of my little world draws its energy from me... if I am black and sticky inside, it translates. I have 13 and 15 year old daughters... they are good and sticky black all by themselves with zero help from me. Plus Hubs seems to have lost his tolerance for my swings. In recent years, he's been much more likely to react. I firmly believe the secret to our successful pairing is his ability to remain unaffected by my emotion laden roller-coasting.

For now, I am back on the tracks and rolling along smoothly.

Gosh but I do have a way of amusing myself... even when nobody else gets it.