“Some mental disorders run in families, and your family’s mental health history may be an important clue for determining your risk of developing a mental disorder.”

Badger had her weekly appointment in Jefferson City today.
She brought me home my raspberry coffee that I love, and doughnuts for everyone.
That was much appreciated.

Badger didn't get her doughnut, though.
She sat it down on her desk, came into my room for just a minute, went back to her room, and dadblast it, Coyote had the doughnut on the floor chowing down on it

They say cats don’t crave sweets and can’t taste them.
Well, maybe they should meet my cats.

The day was pretty much the same as yesterday.
I just don't want to be with people right now.
I sometimes have blue spells.
They don't last long.
I'll stop being a bed troll eventually.

I did have to wash up my bedding.
Lucifer dribbles poop.
I don’t know how not to be blunt or gross.
It’s not like he needs a diaper.
It’s just that sometimes he’ll be asleep and he’ll have an accident.
He’s ten years old with feline AIDS.
I’ve never had a cat live this long.
For all I know, it’s just something old cats do, kind of like how some older women will dribble pee sometimes.
Although his sister is the same age and she doesn’t dribble anything.
Anyway, he was cuddling me, I started smelling sewage, and yep, I ended up spending the evening washing bedding.

Cowboy has started getting a bit territorial with the blankets.
I’m nearly 300 pounds, and I toss and turn all night long, so okay, maybe I was yanking the blankets off his old skinny butt.
The man freezes all the time now.

I remember a long time ago, a blogger I used to read explained how she divided the bed up with separate bedding.
I’ve been trying that, and it works really well.
It's just a little extra work is all.
Cowboy seems to be sleeping better too.
Washing the bedding is more work because we have two sheets, two blankets, two comforters.
But, worth it.

Badger got her letter of diagnosis today.
All I'll say is she has more than just autism diagnosed now.
I mean, she's still autistic, but with a little extra to go with it.
As a mother, it hurts my heart to read her described in such a cold, clinical way.
It also hurts to read her describe how she feels, things she'll never tell us out loud.

I love Badger, and I’ll never regret having her, but I never wanted a daughter.
I never wanted to pass down the mental illnesses the women of my family seem to have.
I love her, I love her deeply and always will, but I know how it is for the women in my family.
I knew, I know, the women in my family are batshit crazy, and that’s not an easy life to live.
The males all seem to be either normal or just damn good at hiding their craziness.

At least she's getting help.
She’s not doing what me, my mother, my aunts, and my grandmother did. 
We’ve never got any help, we just lived with it.
I have hope that with the right help she’ll have a better life.

Tomorrow I'll have to try to poke myself in gear and get the weekend mess cleaned up. 
Badger hasn't felt well, and I'm in my dying southern belle mood.
I'm about like Badger, though, why bother?
Friday comes and the house gets trashed again. 
Just kick the toys out of the way, sweep up enough dropped food the cats and dogs don't eat something poisonous, and leave it. 
Raven doesn't care enough to clean up after his kids, so why should Badger and I be the ones doing it?

I’m getting off of here.
I don’t think I’m much in the mood to try for a gentle unicorn‑farting‑rainbows blog post tonight.