Things can only get better. Right?

Oh, hello there. Me again.

Still depressed. Still feeling like Life has crashed into me head-on and run over me about eleventy-million times. Which it kind of has.

Still have heard nada from anyone at the school. They're all ignoring me, guys. It's like they hate me or, even worse, don't care. Not a nice feeling, either way. With classes starting today, I'm a bit anxious to get this stuff figured out so that I know where I stand.

Meanwhile, I spent the better part of last week making phone calls and trying to find the right people to talk to, so that I could better figure out my options. So far, my options are limited ... as in, I could just lie in bed until September and it wouldn't matter, except that my kids might start wondering where I was. Maybe.

So far, what I know is that I will be applying to enter the four-year university nursing program, and the two-year practical nursing program, and re-applying for the paramedic program. What I still don't know is whether or not the paramedic program will allow me to continue with the second semester. And, at this point, I almost don't care anymore. And yes, I know that's no attitude to have. Sorry, folks. I just can't help it.

On an even less bright note, our third (and last) guinea pig kicked the bucket last Thursday. Mo (short for Nanaimo) was only two years old, which just made us all the more sad. Although she wasn't my favourite piggy,  she was starting to rub off on me, ever since my favourite piggy Furry died last November. Now, who in hell's name deserves to have two pets die in the span of less than two months?! We do, that's who. Clearly. Of course, I'm pretty sure she died because I didn't love her. Lately, it seems everything I even think of looking at disintegrates right before my eyes.

I'm pretty sure this signifies the end of our Guinea Pig Era. The kids are both much older now, and we've discovered we can all live quite well with a poodle in the house. Hence, there's no longer that overwhelming need to house tiny little animals that squeak a lot and are very fussy with the fresh veggies. I wanted to take the cage down over the weekend, but Dee was adamant we leave it up for a while. I understand. This reminds me of the time, a very long time ago, when we had our first dog (Augie was her name, stupidity was her game) and, when she died at the age of 15, I refused to allow my dad to remove her water and food bowls, as well as her bed. It just felt wrong.

In the last week, I also discovered that I have a short circuit in my heart, which means I now have to go in for some tests, and possibly an invasive procedure. Why not, I ask myself. What else could go wrong? Oh yeah. Probably a brain tumour, and foul body odor.

Lately, I almost feel like I'm caught in an invisible web of eternal badness.

It's gotta get better soon, folks.