So a decision may have been made that I’ll be rehoming the boys. After consulting a friend who is an animal communicator she said that they’re almost wild, fairly aggressive, and aren’t happy. Now before anyone calls me a New Age hippy, let’s remember that I’ve thought this for quite some time. Now whether they’re not happy with me or with anything, I don’t know. All I do know is that I can’t stop crying about it.

Canadian is looking in to how much it would cost to ship them to Michigan and from there to Toronto. I can rent/borrow a carrier from the person she’s asking since she does this sort of thing all the time. Canadian said she’d been dying to get her hands on the boys anyways, so it’d be perfectly fine for them to come to her. I still feel like I’m unloading my problem on to her, though.

I’m just.. Sad. Despondent. Depressed..

Then there’s Dinky. What am I going to do about her? She’s all alone, has been for months. I know she’s got to be unhappy. She started nipping me through the bars and she’s always so desperate for attention. She needs a friend. Short of going and buying a set of babies or trying to find a neutered male her age, though, I’m sort of screwed. That was the beauty of the boys, they were almost the same age as Dinky, so I would have them all pass near the same time and I could take a break for a little while. Now that’s not going to happen. I don’t know what’s going to happen now.

I just don’t fucking know.

It’s 3:30am and I’m up. I don’t really want to be up, but here I am, wide awake. I’m sort of over this, Pixelated Space. The only bonus is that I get to talk to Aussie for a while, but he doesn’t get home for another half hour or so. Blah…

I don’t understand this new sleeping schedule of mine, or why I feel better when I haven’t taken my meds on time, or why I feel better the more that I eat. I want some answers, dammit. Of course no one’s got any for me. It’s about how everything is touch and go and everyone is different. Maybe I’m in some weird down cycle where I’m not actually depressed. Maybe I’m leveling out and this is the way my body is responding to it. Yes, I was actually told that..

I just want to be… I don’t know. Normal seems like such a subjective word. Everyone I know always puts it in quotations, as if to say who knows what normal really is. Hell, I’ve done it myself. So if not normal, then what? Stable? It sounds so clinical and sterile. It doesn’t show me a life I really want to live. The quoted normal doesn’t do much for me, either. I just want to be me again. Unfortunately the only me I’ve ever known was bipolar and on one end of the spectrum or the other. I liked me at some point, though, so why can’t I get back to that part? It’s like I’ve hit a brick wall and someone keeps slamming me into it. The thing that scares me is that I’m the one doing it, just trying to get back to that place.

So maybe I don’t need to rehome the rats. Maybe I just need to rethink how I do things. When I clean cages, how I clean them, it’s all a matter of timing and strategy. Right? Right.

I managed to clean the boys’ cage tonight before I had to take my night meds. That alone makes me feel so much better. Tomorrow I’ll try and tackle Dinky’s cage. Her’s isn’t as bad off since it’s one teeny rat in all that cage. So, yea. Maybe I don’t need someone to hold onto them for me or to keep them permanently. I still need to work on introducing them, but I don’t have a great plan for that yet. One step at a time, I guess…