So, I woke up at 4 this morning after having a horrible zombie dream. I lay in bed for a while, pondering why I had such a nightmare, and then it occurred to me. Living dead. They are a symbol of my life, which currently is a living death. I have no life; I can't go anywhere or do anything because I'm taking care of Michael. All I do during the day is work and take care of him and the house, and at night I watch TV with him, and it is driving me crazy--literally. I have major cabin fever. His daughter, Jennifer, was supposed to come and visit us for a couple of weeks in October or November, and I was going to take advantage of that and have her babysit him while I go visit some friends and get out of the house, but she canceled. Thank God that Michael likes going to Reno for BLFC. It's about the only time I am able to get him to leave the house. I SOOOOOOOOOOOO NEEEEEED to get my furry on and cannot wait to be there. I'm going to be a presenter at two talks: cohost on a fun one on how to make friends in the fandom and a second one by myself called "Is It Furry?" I will also be doing some volunteer work and, of course, fursuiting!

Never have I needed to go to a furcon more than this time. It's for the sake of my sanity.

By the way, I am sorry that my journals here are rather sad. I don't post things like the above on Facebook or other social media because Michael would see them. One of the hardest things about my situation is that I can't talk to Michael about it because of his severe PTSD and low self-esteem. I know if I dumped my emotions on him, it would hurt him badly, and I just can't do that to him. He's very fragile emotionally and mentally after decades of abuse from previous spouses and his family. I have made it my goal to do whatever I can to bring him happiness in the time he has left (he is 75 and no telling how long he will stay on this plane of existence). So, I journal here. It's more for my benefit than it is about asking for help or sympathy. You don't have to comment. I'm really just venting. Michael is a sweet and loving man, and it's not his fault he is in the condition he's in. I blame this country for putting him in Vietnam, getting him bombed, shot at, and poisoned with Agent Orange, and ruining his health. Not only that, but his children and grandchildren have had health problems, and I'm sure this can be attributed to his unwittingly passing along the poison to his descendants. Fuck war and fuck this warmongering government of ours.

End of today's rant. I feel a little better.