A drop in the bucket against a cloudburst.

As if someone, somewhere, decided there had to be at least a little bit of good to try and weigh against the bad, the other day I got my employee evaluation at work. Evidently, I'm easy to work with, I'm doing a good job, and though they want me to pick up a bit on initiative, they know I'm working on it and have been improving. So I got a raise. A nice one.

Watch, my dog, was 13 years old. He had a degenerative nerve condition in his back and rear legs which was slowly robbing him of muscle and the ability to walk. Eventually, I knew, he would lose the use of his hind legs completely, and the ability to control his bowels. Still, we managed it with medications and keeping his weight down. Last week, he went completely incontinent. And then, the past three days, he started going off his feed, only eating a little, getting listless. He fell down a lot more. It was time. My mom had gotten very attached to him, and even my stepfather, not a dog person, got teary-eyed in the room. We were all with him. I fed him a triple Whopper that he didn't finish. It all came on rather fast... he'd just been a blood donor, saving another dog's life, not 2 weeks ago, despite being an old man. Today, we had to euthanize him. My dog is gone.

God, but I'm so very tired of death.

I have letters after my name.

I passed. I'm a Board certified Registered Veterinary Technician now.

One hurdle leaped, and I feel relieved. I was happy for about a half hour, but during the test I was so certain I wasn't doing well that I think I kind of psyched myself out. But the relief is staying.

I still don't think I'm a competent RVT, but... that will come in time. Book learning is always different than reality, and I'm at least progressing with my real-life education in how to do the job. Practice, right? It'll just take practice. And in the meantime, I'm not adverse to a little celebrating. ;)

Long hours, too short.

The night’s marched on by, and till morning’s not so long.
It’s come down to do or die, come down to right or wrong.
The studying’s all been done, and it’s time to lay me down.
I’ve no longer the choice to run, far too late to turn back now.

Hope rests on the sunrise, but the fever’s got to my brain.
Sleep’s missing from my eyes, familiar restlessness come again.
The weight of expectations sit, no heavier than my own,
but so much harder to lift, the older that I’ve grown.

The fear is disappointing all those hopes that ride on me.
Of those so much more deserving, and deserving more than me.

In brief.

I had no choice but to schedule my RVT certification exam today - you only have a finite amount of time in which to do so, and my time has run out. Despite the fact that I really don't feel up to it, nor prepared. Next Monday, 1 p.m.

I have my doubts. Boatloads of them. So many mistakes made at work, so much I just don't know. So much that I should know. So much I've forgotten since school let out. Even if, by some miracle, I pass, I don't feel like I deserve it. I'm not -competent- yet. Despite the fact that I might have that bit of paper, and those initials after my name, I can't do the job yet. Every time I think I have something, the very next time I'm let on my own to do it... I screw it up. Not even in just one or two ways, either. Oh no. Multiple things. It frustrates me.

I am guardian, sort of. But for a couple days of the week, when I have to get to work early and the hour commute would just be too much, I am staying at Mr. B's house, so that it isn't empty. Too many people saw him taken away, and while the neighbors are generally good, the sad fact is that all it takes is one less than scrupulous person overhearing something about an empty house, and trouble ensues. That I lived in this house for three years is sort of good, I suppose. I am comfortable here. But I also keep expecting to hear Mr. B come in, drive up, move around in the morning when his clock radio goes off, playing KGO before automatically turning off an hour later. I hated that thing when I lived here. He also listened to KGO during dinner. I never understood why he listened to some of those talk shows, when he really hated some of the hosts. He never gave me a good explanation when I asked him, either. I wake up on the couch, and look at the dark wooden beams slanting against the white ceiling, and for a moment, I'm in my twenties, and I work at the shelter, and I'm wondering why there's no familiar scent of turkey bacon, eggs, and english muffins coming from the kitchen.

And then I recall. I'm now the only President of the Society for the Preservation of Aardvarks, where there used to be two. A joke the two of us had - we were, after all, the only members. I've taken the stuffed aardvark I bought him when I was living in Washington, and the beanie baby white mouse I got him on my first trip to visit AL, which he proudly perched in his white and green kitchen, and smuggled them home. Maybe not the most ethical thing to do... but they mean more to me than they would to anyone who buys his things at auction when they go to probate.

God, I miss him.