So it’s time for my once-every-few-years disability review, or as I like to call it, “Is You Still All Fucked Up?”

I is.

The last time I went to the eye doctor I gave him the requisite ten pages of paperwork to fill out, ten pages of paperwork that is due tomorrow, with the understanding that he would fill it out and mail it back to me.

“No problem,” he intoned. “I do this all the time.”

What I got back in the mail on Saturday were the very shoddy results of my eye tests and ten pages of blank paperwork.

Doh. I guess he figured that the test results spoke for themselves.

I called today to get an extension and was given one week to have another doctor fill the shit out, so I picked my neurologist; because although he is generally useless, he has the nicest staff, and they will probably have to do the damned thing anyway.

I’ve been calling all morning so that I can fax the shit over, to no avail. Nobody from the office is calling me back. The nurse left me a short message early this morning asking me why I needed a refill on my Vicodin, which is sort of like asking why I need caffeine or oxygen. I have four slipped discs, lady. I need Vicodin like you need your ugly Crocs.

The Social Security caseworker did a brief phone interview with me to ascertain whether I was still screwed up enough to still be receiving disability, and by the time I got through with her I think she was convinced I should be lying down with a cold rag on my face in a dark room somewhere.

“So let me get this straight. You have… seizures, migraines, fibromyalgia, slipped discs, legal blindness, and… gastroparesis?”

“Yeah.”

I always want to scream that it isn’t as bad as it sounds. I mean, it sucks, don’t get me wrong, but it’s liveable. It’s just not really so workable.

“And how does this affect your day-to-day life?”

“Well… how DOESN’T it?”

Ask a stupid question…

Anyway, I am hoping to God I can get this paperwork properly completed in a week, because if I don’t, they will cut off my disability without so much as a second glance. This is the way it works, and I hope my doctor gets that.

It’s making me more than a little nervous.

In other news, tomorrow is Norton’s birthday. I bought him a few little things, and am going to take him out to dinner/sex him up like a crazed freak.

Right.

In still other news, one thing you never want to see as a pet owner is your beloved little animal dragging its ass along the carpet.

That is exactly what I happened to come across yesterday afternoon while traipsing through the dining room. There was Skittles the cat, zooming across the carpet as if her ass was on fire.

Great.

I ran toward her, picked her up, and immediately inspected her hiney. There, amidst a tangle of black fur, was what could best be described as a large dingleberry.

My beloved cat had a shitball.

GAH.

I ran to get a wet paper towel as the cat squirmed and flipped out and yowled, angry at being inspected so rudely, and I removed said offensive item from her butt as she howled.

She hid from me for the rest of the day.

This happens from time to time with long-haired cats, and I don’t know how to avoid it. Clip the hair around their rears? Ass-shaving? Whatever the case, I think it is best performed by a vet or groomer if I don’t want my hand bitten off. The cat, she does not appreciate anyone touching her ass.

There is my gross story for the day. Your welcome.

Happy Monday.

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