knitting on my back to stop backache

Today I realized Taylor's face is more than just surgery from bad teeth, she got her muzzle busted in the past and you know it wasn't another dog or by accident. It's too hard to do that by accident, but easy to do in a fit of rage. Poor baby, she's definitely got ptsd, I've seen her go into a fugue state of terror and panic. 
I learned her tattoo is spca, so she's had that experience too. I just can't stop protecting her now I understand how deeply she's been hurt. I feel like we are two of a kind, seeing the worst of humans and just wanting safety.
So I will live for her even if I do think I see a way out. Her life is now my new "hold on" time, I guess. It feels like the world doing me dirty rather than cooking up something good, though. 
Well Taylor deserves it. She makes it easier too. Rene doesn't understand what a cute little teddy bear dog does for me that she can't. Sadly. Timmy felt that way about her, I think. What can she offer that he doesn't. Well, she's the security, you're the cheerleader. you can't do both in one animal, it's two opposite jobs. You cannot be both cute and scary as a dog, without also being dangerous. But she doesn't feel scary, so doesn't understand that she does that for me. She provides a little snap of uncertainty in other humans that gives me space to move. That's all, and it's enough.
See, it's that ladder thing. Give me one step up and I"ll make the next one. Give me a little material and I'll make the whole damn ladder. Throw water on me instead and I'll drown. I just can't seem to get enough to make more than two steps before the flood comes and washes it away again. 
Well the money Dan gave me for fuel is now food money. He stopped handing over money when he worked soon as he realized it was empowering me. Even though frankly it's why we've been able to plate the bus and car, but he's stupid, right?
He also sat running and revving his van, reminding me of long summer mornings with the windows closed hiding inside while the entire fucking yard turned foggy from the noisome revving and idling for actual hours while he "worked on it." Yeah sure, you knew how much I hate it. How many animals died for that little bit of abusive behaviour?
Yet he feeds me so why complain about his obnoxious behaviour?  
Fuck.
I just want to live alone in a wee house that isn't full of toxic mold and requiring of hiring of landscapers I cannot afford, in a climate where I can go out almost daily without harm to my body. Somehow that is reserved for privileged people and I don't know my place. I really do not know my place. I've been trying to find it. Surely it can't be slopped over on the sidewalk weeping all day as I shiver and cough? That can't be a proper place for any living thing. Why do we allow it? What do I do to stop going there? 
My health is such a strange thing. I know it's 80% stress. My back is so bad I have to lay on it to knit or do things anymore as I get nasty cramps all up and down it. But I can't prove it, so I can't seek help for the pain. and what help is there? No, really, they won't DO anything about anything. Not pain killers or antispasmodics from the pharma heavy therapy kit. Not referrals to physio or massage or neurologist. Fuck no. They'll tell me to try exercising more. More, huh? Right. Eat better too, I bet. Eat WHAT? Oh my bad, I forgot to get one of those self filling fridges and bank accounts.  
What is a job and where do I get one? Nope, not there, they don't actually do anything much unless you are already extremely employable and just need a little interface. If you're a mess like me, that's your problem.
The nurse practitioner appears not to have even filed the disability application. He hates me that much. What now?
So tomorrow I decided to try and get info on Stacey for wardrobe at the theatre, focus on that, then tuesday I try calling the disability advocate for advice. I don't know what else to do there except keep existing in this non existence state worrying so hard I blow out my health and can't take proper care of myself anyway.
I really still don't understand why the stove didn't kill us. I know I can't talk about it because nobody wants to. 
ok, back to my coffee. Gelatin is my best friend. I put it in my coffee. I make it into ambrosia with honey and whipping. I use it in my cocoa too, although I have to cut back on that, maybe.

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