Here comes another one, People.
That’s my version of Happy New Year.
Happy New Year sounds preemptively ironic under current conditions.
I watched The Asphalt Jungle last night. Sterling Hayden as the hooligan Dix Handley bleeding, almost stumbling, barely standing into the horse pasture of his family’s farm at the end is how it feels heading into this new year. He collapses and dies surrounded by colts sniffing at him. Sterling Hayden at the end of a few movies is sort of what it feels like right now. An electric hopelessness, an aggravated surrender, depletion. The end of Kubrick’s The Killing is another great Hayden resignation. As is Altman’s The Long Goodbye. Into the ocean in that one, I believe. I guess The Godfather could also work. He was shot in the head point blank and had a gagging, knowing moment before plowing face down into his food. All of these work. Happy New Year.
Heading into my New Year I’ve had nothing but panic and aggravation. Both my cats started vomiting on the Wednesday before New Year's. It always happens. Cats get fucked up right before long holiday weekends or right before you have to travel. I have no idea what got them sick. I can’t figure it out. Yes, cats vomit. These were spectacular, violent displays. Then not eating and more puking. I took Buster to the vet because he has a bum kidney and I thought that might be it. I thought Sammy might just be freaking out.
Turns out Buster's kidney, blood, piss, liver were all good. No blockages. He has pancreatitis though. Vague in its causes, perhaps a symptom. Who the fuck knows? The first vet told me he might need to be hospitalized. He gave me some anti-nausea meds and told me to bring him back in if he keeps puking. He did. Of course. The next morning I freaked and realized if he’s not eating or drinking I may need to give him subcutaneous fluids. I went back to the vet with Buster. I saw another vet. A nicer vet. A woman. She said fluids would be a good idea. I was freaking out about him not eating. She said don’t worry about it. Don’t put food out for another night and give him the digestive medicine food. I cried in the vet's office on New Year’s Eve day. I can’t take all this cat drama anymore.
He did not eat the medicine food. More panic. I reached out to my old vet, who was calming. Meanwhile Sammy doesn’t know Buster for days. Something that happens when you bring a cat home from the vet. The cats at home don’t know him anymore. I don’t know why. All this is adding to Buster’s stress. I get the fluids in him with Kit on New Year’s Day. Did it myself yesterday. I am stressed and exhausted. Neither cat is 100 percent. Buster is barely eating. It’s a fucking nightmare. Happy New Year.
I do have a lot to be grateful for as we enter this new hell. I’ll make a list.
Today I talk to the legendary Smothers Brothers. What an honor. I traveled up to Sonoma and hijacked a public radio studio to do it. On Thursday I talk to David Manheim about his drug-addled journey to creating the Dopey podcast. Great talks!
Enjoy!
Boomer, Monkey and LaFonda live!
Love,
Maron
Another One.
