(no subject)

[wickedorin]

I know DeviantArt’s been shit in a lot of ways for a long time, but I didn’t really tend to notice that much (logging in once a week tends to help) until some of the more decent artisan communities fell apart recently.  (Let’s be clear: I understand admins have lives and all that.  But one by one they just seem to be abandoned.)  I got a loooot of exposure for my stuff through those places and... boy, now what.

...Particularly when I cannot social medias.  I cannot socials, either.  Well.  I will keep working, is what I will do.  And... Step 3: profit.  Step 4: spend profit on merchandise.

So I had A Night.  But before I get into that, know that the puppy is okay and recovering.  I'm still completely wiped, mostly physically, but story of my life here so.

And by "puppy" of course I mean "increasingly gray-ing pug".  It seemed that yesterday was the perfect storm of bullshit.  The ancient central air conditioning system upstairs had finally started to break down, and it was a stroke of luck that the people who seemed most qualified for the job of a full replacement just had a cancellation and were available yesterday.  As such, Cassie's routine was interrupted by being downstairs all day while a hell of a lot of noise was going on upstairs, which made her anxious enough.  The air conditioners down here can only handle so much humidity and that was pretty damn awful yesterday, plus at one point electricians had to come down here to mess with the fuse-box.  Four fucking times.  I was a little too busy trying to get the dog to not drag herself off her bed barking to ask what the fuck was up with that.

Then the heavy panting started.  Which was fine, really; nothing she hadn't been through before, the solution being to simply try and relax her and keep her cool, give her water.  But more noise upstairs.  And a little more panting.  Then back and forth between heavy breathing and really heavy breathing.  And by the end of the way it was just getting worrisome (not to mention, apparently one of the air conditioner installers botched the fucking job by stripping one of the wires, which took hours to trace and fix before the entire system would actually turn on and work; still waiting to see if I'll be unleashed on the company or if everyone's too worried about a lawsuit to put me on the phone), and was starting to get into "actually sounds like heart failure" territory.  We couldn't reach her usual vet (read: the only decent vet we know of anymore) because after hours, so we had to take her down to the emergency clinic.

The car ride was even more stressful, as they tend to be for her (only on the way to somewhere, never on the way back).  And she was breathing even harder.  By the time we got there one of the nurses was waiting for us (yay calling ahead, I guess), noticed she had a purple tongue and carried her off to the emergency facility.  COMFORTING.  After about 20 minutes we were finally told that it looked like she'd been in a spiral of anxiousness, excitement and panic for so long that her throat was closing up and she was damn near the point of needing a breathing tube.  Luckily a quick sedative (which, old dog, I fucking hate, but) and steroid managed to help.  She spent about half an hour in an oxygen cage, and we were able to take a peek at her briefly.

Then we just kind of hung around the place waiting for some hours for her to get more properly looked at and get some chest x-rays to make sure she didn't have fluid in her lungs (which she did not).  My dinner consisted of a bag of pretzels and green tea... then I thought why the fuck not and picked up Fritos and hot chocolate.  We were there until almost 1 AM, so sugar and junk food were a godsend.  All things considered she was once again billed as "healthy for her age" and we were allowed to bring her home with a few more days worth of steroids.

She's been relaxing today and slept real well last night and this morning, but she's pretty much back to normal.  She's being real delicate about everything, but I can only imagine that she must be as fucking sore everywhere as I am.  (You'd think transporting a small dog by car would be easy.  Wouldn't you.  IT'S NOT.)

I know she's reached the "age of emergencies" here but.  Man.  Gonna stop my heart before much longer.  But as of now she's eating and drinking and rolling over for tummy rubs and staring intently and whoever's available when she thinks she really needs more treats, so.  She is happy.  And that is the most important thing.

(There are very few things that I will serve.  Animals and genuinely kind people amongst them.)

I may have reached the point where I'm not sure how or when I'm going to bounce back, though.  Ha.  I'm exhausted and everything hurts, but isn't it always like that?  Then again I don't really do much to help it, but... shit needs to get done and I'm not willing to compromise until I physically can't manage it anymore.  I mean.  I know that I'm going to wind up pushing myself to complete exhaustion.  Who doesn't see that coming, given my history?  And I know that I'm already running real damn close to my limits.  But, October.  I can rest in October.  I can tell the rest of the world to just fuck off for October.

And it looks like PAK Ignis will be here Monday.  Plus I have ice cream.  Two more slices of key lime pie-cheesecake.  Tiny rewards.  Tiny, potentially bank-breaking rewards.

And pizza/movie night tomorrow.  Because we all fucking need it, I think.