Real-talk kind-of post time. It's been a crazy couple of weeks over here. I've been hit with so many "HEY, YOU'RE AN ADULT NOW!" smacks in the face recently, and I was completely burnt out about two weeks ago, but I've been feeling a little more positive lately while I try get back on track. Get ready for a much needed slew of complaining and bitching on my part. I know this blog is mine and I can put anything here, and well... this is one of those "Hey, I'm growing a business. I'm a starving artist, and I love that I love my craft passionately, but I hate this at the same time" sort of posts.
If you follow me on Twitter or IG, you probably noticed the cone that was on Ty's big puppy head. Well, awhile back, Ty started licking at this wound that was at the tip of his tail. He just wouldn't stop after he realized it was there and it started to get worse, and worse... and worse. Until it really looked infected. So we brought him to the vet to get it checked out and to get some anti-biotics, which ended up costing almost $400. They had to give him anesthesia so they can shave his tail (They were afraid he'd bite.) and since he is almost 100lbs, they had to use an arm and leg's worth of medicine to knock him out. So that was that - or so we thought. His tail seemed to be doing a little better even but Ty still wouldn't leave it alone while it was leaving marks of blood all over my apartment walls. His cone was worthless because his tail was so long and that he was able to get it inside of the cone. Okay, here comes the kicker of the story. I recommend to stop reading here if you get grossed out easily.
One Saturday morning, I was preparing myself for a full day working at the salon. I decided to blow dry my hair that day and of course, since my apartment is not an updated fancy one, the fuse blew. I went downstairs to turn the fuse flips while Ty followed closely behind me. As soon as the door shut, I hear a yelp, Ty runs infront of me, and I see blood everywhere. The door had ripped the infected skin of his tail off completely. Literally 1 inch of his tail was just bone and it gave me the worse anxiety attack I've ever had.
I cried all morning because I kept thinking about Ty's yelp (At this point, he didn't care much about the tail. He's tough.), the blood, my bank account, calling work, missing work, and it was the biggest frustrating fiasco of not being able to find a cab to the emergency vet. I got into a 10am vebal cursing fight with someone who was driving too fast as I walked across the street with a bloody towel around Ty's tail to get to the cab that finally said he'd take us in. Then the cab driver was giving me issues because he thought Ty was going to bite him or something, so of course I cussed him out too. Oops. Mind you, Ty is 93lbs of love. Literally not a mean bone in his body. The dude thinks he's a pug or something. I kept thinking, why can't people just be helpful without snapping at me? What happened to treating others how you want to be treated?
We finally get to the emergency vet just so they can tell me that I can't afford the $900 surgery, but to charge me $100 for wrapping the wound and directing me to a welfare clinic. James' sister so very kindly picked us up to drive 1 1/2 hours to the South Side of Chicago so I can get the tip of his tail amputated off at this welfare clinic for only $370. Check in : 2:50pm. Time called in : 5pm. Closing time : 6pm. I had to pick him up the next day, but thankfully some of my best friends drove us there.
I'm fortunate to have a good support system and to have those who will lend me a hand when I need it badly. I've become one of those people who hates asking people for favors, I'm not sure why, but I'm so happy that I have friends & family who will help me when I do ask and a boyfriend who will let me blame him for things that are not of his control. Oops again. I know I'm going to be financially screwed for a while because added on bills to already collected debt, but I keep trying to remind myself one thing. I barely had anything when I moved out of my parents house at 18. I wasn't unhappy then. Sure I was young and immature, but I didn't have a legit home and I ate ramen every day, and while I still had my bills, I didn't let them take me over and lead me to stress & anxiety. DGAF.
I remember in 2nd grade, my friend Katie had told me she wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. I didn't get why because I couldn't see myself doing it. I told her I wanted to be an artist. I know I'm at where I'm supposed to be in my life and though I'm on "starving artist" wages with a day job just barely scrapes me by, I know that I'll get myself somewhere where I can be comfortable. If it's one thing I have is the tolerance to pain : scraped knees, scars all over, and a hard head. I know everyone who reads this blog has that too.
We just need to be patient and we need to remember to breathe.
Oh, and to be kind to those around you. Lets gain some good karma and help make others happy while we're on this planet.