Last night I worked myself into a tizzy, over a screen door, I might add. I'd had a bunch of stuff to do, in a very warm kitchen. I just wanted some relief. Instead I found frustration. A lesson, like others - I'm bound to forget.
It all started with an unintended project and my feeble sense of recall. I've always had a short attention span. Many times my lack of focus bites me on my metaphorical behind. Ah, anyways, before I become further diverted, here is the gist of it...
We have a window, a storm door of sorts facing our backyard, and beyond that an eerie alley. It happens to be located in the kitchen, the scene of this 'shaggy dog' story. This particular door's latch doesn't lock properly. In fact, it hasn't the whole time we've lived here. Safety concerned, being the late night nut that I am, I set out to fix it before I'd become absorbed in my duties.
Sure, it looked simple enough - just needed some temporary solution for the time being. Honestly, what started off as a simple project kept me sidetracked much longer than I would have liked. I fiddled with the damn thing long enough, opening and shutting the door endlessly My feeble attempts of repair fruitless. I was becoming impatient, and grew concerned that my cursing could possibly waking the neighbors, whose windows were open for the night's heat. My efforts were proving futile. I was Rewarded by becoming even more hot and bothered!
Finally, I resigned myself to the fact it just wasn't going to work. All I'd accomplished was getting myself angry, wasting time that could have easily been spent getting on other things than needed doing in the house.
Annoyed with how little headway I made with that portion of the evening, I reached for my favored mood stabilizer, ICE CREAM. I clicked time away at the computer, spoon in hand, now yawning. All that buggering around left me tired and unmotivated. I eventually settled on going to bed and cutting my evening short. I relented to the fact the dog had whined plenty and was going to get her way. For some reason in that furry little head - her bedtime was also considered mine.
This morning I woke up full of regret. Trudging around the kitchen becoming aware of the mistake I'd made. A sink full of dishes and a cluttered counter stared me in the face. I'd barely scratched the surface, the whole house was in disarray. Humbled, I set out to make my hubby his lunch (another intended task from the night before), when I truly felt the stab of regret. No, not because I ALWAYS lose focus, never finishing what I start. I doubled over in pain, made aware of the fact I'd forgotten an important detail...
I can no longer digest certain dairy without consequence. My stomach didn't forget, even if I had. A foolish mistake certainly, but it wasn't always this way. Until recently, me and moo-juice got along just fine. Now it creates a war zone in my tummy. What a battle that was! The antagonizing didn't end there. I was at odds with myself, for ceasing to remember such a traumatic fact.
But wait, that's not all! I missed a dose of one of my meds last night (the bitch was back), yet another reason for misery. Something I realized, ruminating in bed last night, at some God forsaken hour.
Munchies
(Doggy voice)
"Hey ma..."
*Crunch crunch*
"Mommmmm!"
*Gulp!*
"I'm gonna eat in here..."
*Cruncha cruncha*
"In case you didn't notice..."
*Kee-runch! *
"Just how much..."
*Pittewy*
"I HATE dry dog food!"
"Hey ma..."
*Crunch crunch*
"Mommmmm!"
*Gulp!*
"I'm gonna eat in here..."
*Cruncha cruncha*
"In case you didn't notice..."
*Kee-runch! *
"Just how much..."
*Pittewy*
"I HATE dry dog food!"
Hot and bothered
If it's not the heat, it's the stupidity.
I'm leery of turning on the news this morning, having heard so many sirens and police cars whizzing by. Virtually the whole night, including the hours that spill into morning - the sound has been nearly endless. Some scientists claim in hot weather people are apt to be more aggressive, that there is a measurable rise in violent crime. Judging by the sound of it, with some speculation, I'd have to agree.
But... Before I elaborate I require my morning caffeine hit, as life is a blur without it. If there is anything happening, which the weather suggests - I'll keep you posted.
For now I'm just going to languish in the maddening heat like everyone else.
I'm leery of turning on the news this morning, having heard so many sirens and police cars whizzing by. Virtually the whole night, including the hours that spill into morning - the sound has been nearly endless. Some scientists claim in hot weather people are apt to be more aggressive, that there is a measurable rise in violent crime. Judging by the sound of it, with some speculation, I'd have to agree.
But... Before I elaborate I require my morning caffeine hit, as life is a blur without it. If there is anything happening, which the weather suggests - I'll keep you posted.
For now I'm just going to languish in the maddening heat like everyone else.
Dog days
I guess they don't call them that for nothing.
So many hot days ahead of us. Even our terrible two can be found hiding out from the heat. This morning I came across them lazing in refuge. Belly up, feet dangling mid-air, splayed across the bed directly in front of the blowing fan. Though early, they already seemed sapped from the temperature.
On days like this I'm reminded of summers past. Those record breaking highs. Feeling the scorch of pavement, sandals missing, barefooted . Comically tip-toeing or hopping madly, depending on the intensity of said cement. Daring the kid next door to face a mother's wrath, and ruin the clean sidewalk with an egg snuck from the kitchen. An attempt and a distraction in homage of how truly hot it felt.
We'd parade our freckled pudgy bodies, blindly squealing, as we'd run through the backyard sprinkler. There was laughter instead of self-conscious loathing . Back then baby fat wasn't the issue it is today. Teasing and bullying aside, wearing halter tops and terry cloth mini-shorts wasn't a fashion faux pas, thick or thin.
We'd beg our moms to pull our hair back into slick ponytails, bringing relief to our necks sticky with perspiration. The odd wispy hair defiantly peeking from our tamed little manes. Spit on fake tatoos, mismatched hair ribbons, clothes in total disarray - we felt downright smashing. All that mattered was how high you could go on the swing, airborne. The sky was the limit.
The neighborhood group of kids fed themselves on Freezies and crazy flavored Happy Pop (a summer solace). The lot of us would poke our tart colored tongues out for sake of comparison. Each of us would then chuckle at the one kid who constantly sported a smudgy upper lip, the remaining evidence of his last frozen fix. Afterwards we'd prop ourselves in the tangle of long grass. Content.
My favorite time was away from home. Out of school, when we would spend our days at our grandma and grandpa's house. So many plans of mischief made in that garden. We spent so much time with our cousins. Stealing ourselves in the thicket of raspberry bushes, pinching mosquito bites.
I fondly recall the entire town's kids (a whopping population of 500, marked on the statue standing in the middle of the dirt road intersection). How we wailed in unison to the air raid siren, much like a pack of dogs. No longer used for intended purpose, it went off marking meal hours and church services. Warning lunch and supper, even curfew instead of some impending bomb.
I realize now what I didn't then. My grandparents had the patience of saints. The kitchen table was always a combat of sugar cereal, the floors muddied from our excursions in and out an ever-swinging screen door. They must have waken to our spurts of giggles middle of the night, as we forced one another's company down the dark passage of stairs in dire urgency towards the bathroom.
Poor Grandma. The trouble we must have been! Our messes and bickering, often underfoot. I can only imagine the frustration, finding the aftermath. Those days, when she found all the beds torn apart, void of clean sheets. When we excused our actions telling her we needed them for our fort, just like the topsy turvy chairs providing support to our makeshift tent! Poor Grandma indeed.
Dear Grand-dad. So funny how he'd refer to us little women as 'boy!' whenever we crossed his path. How sweet it was to see him take a shine to the birds we'd bring, intended our pets, better suited to his quiet nature.
I can't help but let out a little laugh remembering. Like the time 'Boots' (his cat companion) made it's way into the dishwasher he was fixing. Also how sweet it was when he looked forward to watching 'soaps' in the afternoon. 'Puss' the demur sister cat, an avid fan herself, at his side.
Most vivid in mind, an echo. I still miss the sound of the train moving down the tracks. How we stood still, hushed, an entire group of grand kids frozen for a moment, staring into the distance. Our ears piqued and flooded with the sound of it's whistle... It was only when the caboose was seen trailing off that we would resumed playing. Glowing children in the blazing summer sun.
So many hot days ahead of us. Even our terrible two can be found hiding out from the heat. This morning I came across them lazing in refuge. Belly up, feet dangling mid-air, splayed across the bed directly in front of the blowing fan. Though early, they already seemed sapped from the temperature.
On days like this I'm reminded of summers past. Those record breaking highs. Feeling the scorch of pavement, sandals missing, barefooted . Comically tip-toeing or hopping madly, depending on the intensity of said cement. Daring the kid next door to face a mother's wrath, and ruin the clean sidewalk with an egg snuck from the kitchen. An attempt and a distraction in homage of how truly hot it felt.
We'd parade our freckled pudgy bodies, blindly squealing, as we'd run through the backyard sprinkler. There was laughter instead of self-conscious loathing . Back then baby fat wasn't the issue it is today. Teasing and bullying aside, wearing halter tops and terry cloth mini-shorts wasn't a fashion faux pas, thick or thin.
We'd beg our moms to pull our hair back into slick ponytails, bringing relief to our necks sticky with perspiration. The odd wispy hair defiantly peeking from our tamed little manes. Spit on fake tatoos, mismatched hair ribbons, clothes in total disarray - we felt downright smashing. All that mattered was how high you could go on the swing, airborne. The sky was the limit.
The neighborhood group of kids fed themselves on Freezies and crazy flavored Happy Pop (a summer solace). The lot of us would poke our tart colored tongues out for sake of comparison. Each of us would then chuckle at the one kid who constantly sported a smudgy upper lip, the remaining evidence of his last frozen fix. Afterwards we'd prop ourselves in the tangle of long grass. Content.
My favorite time was away from home. Out of school, when we would spend our days at our grandma and grandpa's house. So many plans of mischief made in that garden. We spent so much time with our cousins. Stealing ourselves in the thicket of raspberry bushes, pinching mosquito bites.
I fondly recall the entire town's kids (a whopping population of 500, marked on the statue standing in the middle of the dirt road intersection). How we wailed in unison to the air raid siren, much like a pack of dogs. No longer used for intended purpose, it went off marking meal hours and church services. Warning lunch and supper, even curfew instead of some impending bomb.
I realize now what I didn't then. My grandparents had the patience of saints. The kitchen table was always a combat of sugar cereal, the floors muddied from our excursions in and out an ever-swinging screen door. They must have waken to our spurts of giggles middle of the night, as we forced one another's company down the dark passage of stairs in dire urgency towards the bathroom.
Poor Grandma. The trouble we must have been! Our messes and bickering, often underfoot. I can only imagine the frustration, finding the aftermath. Those days, when she found all the beds torn apart, void of clean sheets. When we excused our actions telling her we needed them for our fort, just like the topsy turvy chairs providing support to our makeshift tent! Poor Grandma indeed.
Dear Grand-dad. So funny how he'd refer to us little women as 'boy!' whenever we crossed his path. How sweet it was to see him take a shine to the birds we'd bring, intended our pets, better suited to his quiet nature.
I can't help but let out a little laugh remembering. Like the time 'Boots' (his cat companion) made it's way into the dishwasher he was fixing. Also how sweet it was when he looked forward to watching 'soaps' in the afternoon. 'Puss' the demur sister cat, an avid fan herself, at his side.
Most vivid in mind, an echo. I still miss the sound of the train moving down the tracks. How we stood still, hushed, an entire group of grand kids frozen for a moment, staring into the distance. Our ears piqued and flooded with the sound of it's whistle... It was only when the caboose was seen trailing off that we would resumed playing. Glowing children in the blazing summer sun.
Bump in the night
Last night was exhausting. Amelie barked and growled incessantly waking both D and I up, causing quite a conniption. Finally between begging her to stop the racket and fits of interrupted sleep...We HEARD the object of her distemper!
The mysterious noise was originally thought to have emanated from Speckles' odd doings. That is, until we realized she wasn't even in the room! Blurry eyed we both woke up to inspect the auditory anomaly. Without any visual clues we unable to find the culprit. However, it's safe to say it was a mouse lurking about. Feeling defeated we crawled back in bed defeated, knowing there was nothing that could be done until morning.
Laying in the not so silent darkness, my head began conjuring unlikely and disturbing scenarios. I wearily fell back asleep most sure the varmint was re-arranging the furniture during one pique point. I shuddered at the thought! Maybe the ghastly critters were having a get together. A 'moving party' minus the pizza, with grey beady eyed family and friends joining in the bizarre night's activity. My brain echoed the adage 'to have one mouse is to have many'.
Perish the thought!
When the dog somewhat settled down, pacifying herself by licking my hubby's pillow-cradled head, it was 4 AM. Like clockwork the birds outside rose resounding their ritualistic twitter (I've spent many a sleepless night fascinated by their timely conversations with an enthralled moon enrapt of their musings) .
With the dog wedging a safe spot between us I couldn't help but think how spooked we would have been had we not known the source. Bad enough, the Most Haunted TV episodes, and Coast to Coast paranormal radio broadcasts we willingly subjected ourselves, we would have undoubtedly surmised the nights events were supernatural in nature. A bit over the top, right?
Hours later, my guy woke up to find the likely candidate caught, ironically a ghost itself. For the first time he expressed his primitive urge of man over beast. I was relieved to see his sensitive notions swept to the wayside. The prior summer's counter-productive humane traps and my burden of being in charge of the ugliness had drained me.
From now on, if anyone is was going to do any chair hopping and stereotypical shrieking - let it be me!
The mysterious noise was originally thought to have emanated from Speckles' odd doings. That is, until we realized she wasn't even in the room! Blurry eyed we both woke up to inspect the auditory anomaly. Without any visual clues we unable to find the culprit. However, it's safe to say it was a mouse lurking about. Feeling defeated we crawled back in bed defeated, knowing there was nothing that could be done until morning.
Laying in the not so silent darkness, my head began conjuring unlikely and disturbing scenarios. I wearily fell back asleep most sure the varmint was re-arranging the furniture during one pique point. I shuddered at the thought! Maybe the ghastly critters were having a get together. A 'moving party' minus the pizza, with grey beady eyed family and friends joining in the bizarre night's activity. My brain echoed the adage 'to have one mouse is to have many'.
Perish the thought!
When the dog somewhat settled down, pacifying herself by licking my hubby's pillow-cradled head, it was 4 AM. Like clockwork the birds outside rose resounding their ritualistic twitter (I've spent many a sleepless night fascinated by their timely conversations with an enthralled moon enrapt of their musings) .
With the dog wedging a safe spot between us I couldn't help but think how spooked we would have been had we not known the source. Bad enough, the Most Haunted TV episodes, and Coast to Coast paranormal radio broadcasts we willingly subjected ourselves, we would have undoubtedly surmised the nights events were supernatural in nature. A bit over the top, right?
Hours later, my guy woke up to find the likely candidate caught, ironically a ghost itself. For the first time he expressed his primitive urge of man over beast. I was relieved to see his sensitive notions swept to the wayside. The prior summer's counter-productive humane traps and my burden of being in charge of the ugliness had drained me.
From now on, if anyone is was going to do any chair hopping and stereotypical shrieking - let it be me!
The uninvited guest
Yesterday, I had the be-Jesus scared out of me by a mouse. The little wretched thing nearly gave me a heart attack. I'm at my wits end! What's worse is I cought wind from a neighbor the possible cause of the intruder.
It seems that an old spinster, who until recently lived just down the block, was as crazy as the day is long. She obviously had a misguided sense of animal adoration for mice because... she was FEEDING THEM!
I kid you not.
She had a 5 pound bag of seed in her kitchen, tossing the decrepit little creatures a handful whenever she made herself a morsel to eat. I truly cannot fathom what she was thinking staring at the bloody rodents between mouthfuls of her ill-gotten sandwich. I shudder just thinking about it.
Realize this is not a slum type area. It's actually sought-after property. Its a pretty block trimmed with huge trees and little gardens up nearly every residents pathway. The kind of neighborhood where you'll find old couples arm in arm taking ritual strolls, Where you'll see avid dog walkers with furry companions certainly known by name. Look out the window and I guarantee you'll see a jogger, or parent proudly carting baby.
It's a busy block of familiar faces.
I guess every neighborhood has a crackpot (or two, or three). Thus, we aren't without our own. I believe every person has a right to be flaky, if they so desire, aspire, dream to be or were born one. My concern is if these said individuals infringe on my territory. Especially by means of their hairy following.
So when I get the novel experience of being the first house with a pest control van parked out front, or having a cashier price check the necessary traps at the local home depot - I get my back up about it.
Wouldn't you?
It seems that an old spinster, who until recently lived just down the block, was as crazy as the day is long. She obviously had a misguided sense of animal adoration for mice because... she was FEEDING THEM!
I kid you not.
She had a 5 pound bag of seed in her kitchen, tossing the decrepit little creatures a handful whenever she made herself a morsel to eat. I truly cannot fathom what she was thinking staring at the bloody rodents between mouthfuls of her ill-gotten sandwich. I shudder just thinking about it.
Realize this is not a slum type area. It's actually sought-after property. Its a pretty block trimmed with huge trees and little gardens up nearly every residents pathway. The kind of neighborhood where you'll find old couples arm in arm taking ritual strolls, Where you'll see avid dog walkers with furry companions certainly known by name. Look out the window and I guarantee you'll see a jogger, or parent proudly carting baby.
It's a busy block of familiar faces.
I guess every neighborhood has a crackpot (or two, or three). Thus, we aren't without our own. I believe every person has a right to be flaky, if they so desire, aspire, dream to be or were born one. My concern is if these said individuals infringe on my territory. Especially by means of their hairy following.
So when I get the novel experience of being the first house with a pest control van parked out front, or having a cashier price check the necessary traps at the local home depot - I get my back up about it.
Wouldn't you?
First impression
It's nice and peaceful waking up before everyone else. Almost as if the worlds flurried thoughts are at a stand still. Slowed by sleep and brightened by a day with new beginnings. There is a zen like quiet that fills the ears. To listen is blissful.
This is when I sit and ponder. Sipping sweet tea from an oversized mug, moistening my night parched palette. The only talking going on comes from the chatter of birds. Even the dogs are asleep. A time without disruption.
No ringing phones. No dogs scratching at the door. No falling behind with the demands of the day's activities. At this time nothing needs to happen. A moment without expectation. Just being here, sitting in a ray of sunlight. The very purest calm.
This is when I sit and ponder. Sipping sweet tea from an oversized mug, moistening my night parched palette. The only talking going on comes from the chatter of birds. Even the dogs are asleep. A time without disruption.
No ringing phones. No dogs scratching at the door. No falling behind with the demands of the day's activities. At this time nothing needs to happen. A moment without expectation. Just being here, sitting in a ray of sunlight. The very purest calm.
Pendulum
I'm a buzz with millions of ideas. Plans and endeavors that unfortunately never get off the ground. Sometimes it's due to being sidetracked, lack of motivation, perhaps even sensibility once and awhile. I've come up with many a crazy scheme, luckily the worst never coming to fruition. I assume these thought patterns are born of an unsettled creative mind.
I wish I would apply myself and nurture my artistic nature. I find myself a repressed artist stinting my own success via fear and lack of confidence. No longer actualization tactile projects. Leaving no evidence to prove my abilities.
Swinging back and forth, I wonder... If I once had it in me - is it still there, laying dormant just waiting for ignition? Or, has it wilted. Will it fade away? Am I in some funk that will eventually pass, Just in need of a spark? The flames of creativity taking hold so I may make art once more.
I wish I would apply myself and nurture my artistic nature. I find myself a repressed artist stinting my own success via fear and lack of confidence. No longer actualization tactile projects. Leaving no evidence to prove my abilities.
Swinging back and forth, I wonder... If I once had it in me - is it still there, laying dormant just waiting for ignition? Or, has it wilted. Will it fade away? Am I in some funk that will eventually pass, Just in need of a spark? The flames of creativity taking hold so I may make art once more.
Arf-ism
Barking dogs and early mornings seem to coincide these days.
I'm sure the dogs feel they are doing the block some great service, just as I'm sure the neighbors disagree. Lately my holy terrors bark TOO much. I'd say I've heard plenty from my two canines in the past week, enough to last a life time. One WOOF too many!
These days they'll bark at virtually anything. Heck, more times than not I'd guess it results from an over active imagination. Such excessive vocal outbursts, I've found myself at my wits end.
The big problem I'm having is that they don't listen to me as much as I get to listen to them. I guess they're more human than we give them credit... As if that is always a good thing.
I'm sure the dogs feel they are doing the block some great service, just as I'm sure the neighbors disagree. Lately my holy terrors bark TOO much. I'd say I've heard plenty from my two canines in the past week, enough to last a life time. One WOOF too many!
These days they'll bark at virtually anything. Heck, more times than not I'd guess it results from an over active imagination. Such excessive vocal outbursts, I've found myself at my wits end.
The big problem I'm having is that they don't listen to me as much as I get to listen to them. I guess they're more human than we give them credit... As if that is always a good thing.
All in the family
I picked out some gorgeous tree-like shrubs for my parents yard for Fathers Day. I wanted to get something lovely that would last, longer than either of us hopefully. It represents growth and maturity. Something that would be all the more endearing with each passing year. With age I've realized how much my family means to me.
We didn't always get along, me and dear old dad. In fact sometimes we still get our backs up, but usually remember to divert from such toxic topics before conversations turn ugly. Now that I'm older I've become less stubborn. I know well enough to back down and take things like a grain of salt. Let by-gones be by-gones. My past rolls off my back, resentment diluted. Life becomes more fragile with age and is no longer taken for granted. What precious times left will be good on my watch.
Inclinations of the amalgamate kind
Ever see a dog wag it's tail while asleep? Must be one helluva dream!
Yesterday felt rather productive. I tackled those things most avoided. Some of the least pleasant tasks are behind me, for the time being. Take away the harrowing run-in with a brown beastly spider, and I'd say it was a good day.
My pancreas has been giving me a nudge for the last couple of days. Angry at Advil or junk food, it's been waking me up at night. I've no plan on going to a doctor however, aware that there is little they can do. Maybe one day it's protest will cause me to mend my ways. Until then, I'll pretend I'm the boss of it. Perhaps a fool, but my body has had it's share of problems. Nothing new here. Carry on as always.
What a lovely visit I had with my Mom and the dogs! Have I ever posted a pic of my awfully adorable little lions? I swear you'll never see anything sweeter! Tatter-ann and Chinny-wah (devilish nicknames) are a sight to behold. If I ever get my shit together I'll put up a merry lot of photos. Goodness, but I'm full of promises, aren't I?
You cannot fault good intentions.
Yesterday felt rather productive. I tackled those things most avoided. Some of the least pleasant tasks are behind me, for the time being. Take away the harrowing run-in with a brown beastly spider, and I'd say it was a good day.
My pancreas has been giving me a nudge for the last couple of days. Angry at Advil or junk food, it's been waking me up at night. I've no plan on going to a doctor however, aware that there is little they can do. Maybe one day it's protest will cause me to mend my ways. Until then, I'll pretend I'm the boss of it. Perhaps a fool, but my body has had it's share of problems. Nothing new here. Carry on as always.
What a lovely visit I had with my Mom and the dogs! Have I ever posted a pic of my awfully adorable little lions? I swear you'll never see anything sweeter! Tatter-ann and Chinny-wah (devilish nicknames) are a sight to behold. If I ever get my shit together I'll put up a merry lot of photos. Goodness, but I'm full of promises, aren't I?
You cannot fault good intentions.
Forecast
This morning I woke up to rain, rain, lots of it. The dogs hate it, though I'm not sure why seeing it's messy, wet, surely a match made in heaven. I however, love the rain! I wilt on hot summer days, but give me a cool shower burst to break from the heat and I'm good to go! Don't forget the beautiful moment the sun appears. The twinkling heavy dewdrops clinging to every blade of grass creating a lush crystal green carpet. Stale air becomes fresh again. Sweet and fragrant.
I think the only thing better than an afternoon drizzle is an evening storm. A real delight during movie night. The neon glare of street lights reflecting from slick black puddles on the pavement. The muffled sound of downpour dancing on the rooftop. Somehow snuggling indoors becomes a fond event, finding comfort between the pane of glass seperating ones self from the torrent. That once 'ever so noisy' furnace becomes a soothing hum as the night wears on.
I'd guess its about being grateful. For the wash of water that makes things new again. For the caress of a cool breeze and wet kiss-like raindrops. Finally taking notice how the world looks brighter when the clouds finally part.
It all depends on how you look at it.
I think the only thing better than an afternoon drizzle is an evening storm. A real delight during movie night. The neon glare of street lights reflecting from slick black puddles on the pavement. The muffled sound of downpour dancing on the rooftop. Somehow snuggling indoors becomes a fond event, finding comfort between the pane of glass seperating ones self from the torrent. That once 'ever so noisy' furnace becomes a soothing hum as the night wears on.
I'd guess its about being grateful. For the wash of water that makes things new again. For the caress of a cool breeze and wet kiss-like raindrops. Finally taking notice how the world looks brighter when the clouds finally part.
It all depends on how you look at it.
lately...
I must admit self loathing can be very taxing. Perhaps my brain is wired to create internal conflict. Whatever the reason, I'm certainly sick of it. Yesterday wasn't my best day and yet things looked brighter as the night grew late. I often wonder if other people have a time fixed disposition to anxiety and depressive episodes throughout the day.
I find it comforting and thank those who have sent me textual tid-bits. I've had a lot on my mind lately, plenty enough to furrow my brow at. Darling Speckles, our wayward dog requires surgery for mammary tumors I failed to recognize. The ugly truth is that I've done my best not to become emotionally tied to the old girl. I love her but it hurts to do so. Old age is certain loss, after all. So I focus on the mundane. The Endless shedding that creates tumble-weeds forming a hairy desert across our wooden floors. Her creative but appalling dookey habits (she's not only a poop machine but also chooses the most unlikely places such as flower beds, the eaves trough drain pipe, patio and sidewalks). Such incessant barking, rousing Amelie to do the same. Sometimes it a bit much. All that and my selfish angst over money going to the vet and not my dental problems Whether vanity or necessity - Guilt ensues.
On the glad side of things - my guy is buying our rental! We can finally do the things we've been longing. The bedroom is a dreadful shade of fuschia ( I actually can't come up with a real name for the color). I detest carpets, but certainly pink is the worst (even though it can be such an uplifting color in the right shade and setting). The room just never echoed either of our tastes, so the decor has been in limbo for the past few years. Renting a place requires no commitment and so that is what we gave it.
Our weekends have been scouring garden centres. Hunting for herbs and lusting over water features. Ah, some day... a backyard oasis. What I wouldn't do to be the nature-loving tomboy of my youth. I dare say bugs have frightened me to death ever since puberty.
Perhaps that's just part of being a girl.
I find it comforting and thank those who have sent me textual tid-bits. I've had a lot on my mind lately, plenty enough to furrow my brow at. Darling Speckles, our wayward dog requires surgery for mammary tumors I failed to recognize. The ugly truth is that I've done my best not to become emotionally tied to the old girl. I love her but it hurts to do so. Old age is certain loss, after all. So I focus on the mundane. The Endless shedding that creates tumble-weeds forming a hairy desert across our wooden floors. Her creative but appalling dookey habits (she's not only a poop machine but also chooses the most unlikely places such as flower beds, the eaves trough drain pipe, patio and sidewalks). Such incessant barking, rousing Amelie to do the same. Sometimes it a bit much. All that and my selfish angst over money going to the vet and not my dental problems Whether vanity or necessity - Guilt ensues.
On the glad side of things - my guy is buying our rental! We can finally do the things we've been longing. The bedroom is a dreadful shade of fuschia ( I actually can't come up with a real name for the color). I detest carpets, but certainly pink is the worst (even though it can be such an uplifting color in the right shade and setting). The room just never echoed either of our tastes, so the decor has been in limbo for the past few years. Renting a place requires no commitment and so that is what we gave it.
Our weekends have been scouring garden centres. Hunting for herbs and lusting over water features. Ah, some day... a backyard oasis. What I wouldn't do to be the nature-loving tomboy of my youth. I dare say bugs have frightened me to death ever since puberty.
Perhaps that's just part of being a girl.
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