burn·out /ˈbərnˌout/ Physical or mental collapse caused by overwork or stress.

Hello interweb, trust you're doing well.  I'm doing good.  Not a day has gone by since we've buried our fur ball that I did not think of him.  I miss our daily routines together, how he would joined me when I was sitting on the toilet and just wait for me to grab his tail then walked away.  Every night before going to bed, when I kiss Hubby goodnight I have this urge to look for him to come to bed with me, and when I come home to hear nothing is the roughest part for me... Yep, I do miss him.

Over the weekend, a relative mentioned something about being illegal to bury a pet.  I've looked it up and in some cities around Montreal, it is forbidden. Oh well.  We didn't bury him in our back yard, since we don't have one anymore. While reading about these city by-laws, I came across an article describing how deep we should dig, etc. so that other critters don't dig the body up.  Tobi isn't buried as deep as they suggest.  I can only hope he won't be dig up by neither animals nor humans.  This is where he is resting, under the flowers, next to my father...

No, I didn't ask permission to put him there.  I just decided it would be a good spot for him.  The thought of having him thrown in the garbage (or whatever else they do with dead pets) repulsed me, so it was either cremation or burial.  I had brought the towel that was always in his carrier, so we wrapped him in it and deposited him in the hole dug by Hubby.  We covered him with earth and finished it off with the flowers.  We had to rush some in doing it, since two men were working in the row behind us.  I didn't want any trouble, and really didn't feel like explaining what we were doing there.  The flowers were the "reason" we were there.

After we were done burring him, I took out a little stamp I have and wrote his name and dates on my father's side of the tomb stone.

I don't know how long it will last, but at this point I just wanted it done, and it is.  His final resting place.  I will have to go back at some point, soon, to make sure all is good and that nothing disturbed him.

In other news, last week I think I heard one of my brain connectors (or whatever it may be called) fry.  I was at a client, and I literally saw, in my brain, something go poof and saw this little smoke filet rising.  At that exact moment I knew I was done.  I thanked my client.  She had made, for me, with her shitty work, a long due decision a reality - I needed to get out of it all.  I needed to ditch that client, as Hubby so often tells me to.  So, right then and there, I did tell her I would clean up her mess and be done with it.  I'm going back at the end of this week to hand in her papers, and that will be it for me.  For that client at least. 

I don't have the energy nor the envy to pick up other people's crap anymore. I'm done.  I feel like I just don't care anymore.  I'll do what I want and fuck the rest of them with their never ending problems.  I'm done.  I'm not overwork nor stressed I'm just done.  I'm mentally tired of being a pooper scooper, so I'll be addressing that issue one client at the time.  Should be interesting time ahead...