Yesterday I made a trip to Wal-Mart and saved three little fishes from their sure death in the tanks at the super center. After making my way home I proudly entered the apartment to show J.R. my new pets.
"J.R. look... FISHES!!!!"
"Jo, why on earth did you buy goldfish. You know this is just going to be a repeat of last time and they're going to end up dead in a week and I'm going to find them in the freezer...."
He has no faith in me after one stupid little fish died. I barely had the thing for six hours and it was floating belly up. Infuriated I put the fish in a ziplock bag and put it in the freezer. I had every intention of returning the fish and getting a new one. By the end of the week I still hadn't gone for the new fish and the frozen goldie was long forgotten in the back of the freezer. Well, it was forgotten until J.R. came home on R&R and discovered the fish in the very back corner of the freezer. I tried to explain to him what happened but he's never believed one word of the story and from that day on he's been determined to keep anything living away from me.
"...Seriously Jo, why did you buy goldfish?"
"Well, we don't have a dog, or a cat, and you're never home at night anymore. Somebody has to keep me company and protect me and sense you can't seem to manage the job I'm going to have to depend on Hoover, Harriet, and Priscilla."
"OMG, you named them."
"Of course I named them. You can't have a pet without a name. It just doesn't work."
"No shit Sherlock. And they still deserve names. So here they are... Hoover the food mover, Priscilla the pest, and Harriet the hider (she's a little shy)."
"You've lost it Jo."
He may think I'm nuts but at least I'm entertained. Now if I can just keep them alive.
It's been another crazy week at school. I've managed to become completely confused with a great understanding of Hinduism (figure that one out), aced a quiz in Psychology, and made a new promise to never buy any clothing made in China ever again after watching the documentary China Blue.
Tuesday night J.R. returned to the VA for a psychology appointment. Although he may be just fine with how these go I'm a little disgusted. They usually last about 15 minutes. That's just enough time to say "Hey how ya doing? Great. Here's some Prozac take it everyday." How is that true counseling? I go once a week and it's an hour long drill session of "How does that make you feel? If you get angry what do you do about it? Why do you do that? Try this..." It's a never ending war.
The laundry is beeping at me and I have piles of school work calling my name. I'd love to keep writing as there is so much to say, but there just aren't enough hours in the day. Words will just have to wait.