Well, then. We've come to the portion of the program where I turn on the news, listen for a few minutes, and turn it off again in a fit of rage and despair. Fun! I am so tired of old white men making all the rules. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love and adore quite a few old white men, individually, but as a collective, I'm still waiting for anything good to come out of their scheming. I will not be holding my breath. In the meantime, the banalities of life continue, and I am trying to do my best impression of a Functional Adult Who Still Cares. This is a testament to my acting skills, as my...
It's been... oh, nearly a couple of months. I would love to tell you that I was extremely busy living life to the fullest during this time, but that would be a lie. Mostly I was busy 1) being cold (yes, Georgia winters are short, but I am a delicate flower and our brief very cold portions of the year always kind of sneak up on me), 2) baking things, because why not, 3) cutting my own hair (this started during the pandemic and as I am nothing if not lazy, I am slooooowly perfecting my technique, which mostly consists of a lot of swearing and getting hair all over my bathroom), and 4) dealing...
Good news: I'm back again, in under a month! With the words, and stuff! Bad news: Nothing interesting ever happens here except as it pertains to the dogs. If you aren't interested in dogs, first of all, what is wrong with you, and second, this is not going to be very interesting. When we last left off, everything was broken and/or deeply annoyed. Goose was in a cone and battling her mortal enemy, thrice-daily eye drops, and our house was presumably about to burst into flames due to faulty wiring, which would've been sad but also most of our electronics were already fried so, eh. We are now...
A few weeks after we received Goose, and about a week after we said goodbye to Licorice, my phone started lighting up with messages from the rescue. Possibility of a owner surrender, yorkie/dachshund mix, 10 years old; could I take her? Otto has always said we have a two-dog maximum. Well. I had just one dog, now, and even I was growing tired of my moping around and spending all my spare time crying (side note: my parents were very much of the "shield young children from death" variety, and while I'm not blaming them for the profound grief I found myself mired in after Licorice died, allow...
Licorice lasted about 2 weeks on her new glaucoma regimen before she started squinting again, and back to the vet ho$pital we went. They put her on a third eye drop, and so far, so good. So she now gets three different eye drops three times a day, but also they have to be given at least 5 minutes apart, so each dosing period is referred to as the Parade of Eye Squirts, but we've all acclimated. She doesn't mind at all. ("That's because she never sees it coming," explained Monkey with an arched eyebrow, proving that his comedic delivery remains unrivaled.) Chickadee and Sunny are coming home...
I did not mean to leave you with the depressingness of Duncan's demise for quite so long. I apologize. We had a rough week there and then gradually settled into being able to reference and talk about him fondly and without tears. It helped that Licorice has taken to having periodic accidents in the house (SHE IS JUST TRYING TO HELP) and Monkey loves to proclaim that it's "The ghost of Duncan!" peeing on the floor. So. Who knows? Maybe it is Ghost Leaky Duncan. I feel like haunting us with puddles would be on brand for him, honestly. And then... the second half of the summer seemed to rev up...
Hello! How's everyone holding up? How are we handling... you know... everything? Still hanging on? Good, good. Us too. Today is day 7,391 of the plague, right? My hair clippers---which I've had for so long I really don't know how long I've had them---started making a really weird noise when I used them last month, and after giving Chickadee and Sunny haircuts while they were visiting (more on that in a bit) I discovered that I'd given Sunny terrible razor burn on her neck while I was tidying up at the end of her cut. I felt awful. (She, true to form, was all, "It's fine! No big deal!"...
My father texted me yesterday, and I need you to understand that my father only types on a regular keyboard with two fingers, so texting---even worse---is for him a laborious and unfathomably slow process. I knew it must be something very urgent. He texted to say I need to blog to "protect his sanity." I was tempted to let him know I'll miss him if I'm all that's standing between him and the brink, but instead I told him I'd try as soon as I had some time. Because, you know, time is weird right now. Also I was on a Zoom meeting when he texted, so technically I did NOT have the time right...
Time has ceased to have meaning, right? It's not just me? When I sell things on Poshmark (woefully infrequently, these days, because who needs clothes when we're all hanging out at home in our sweats?) and get them packaged up, I always include a thank-you note. Because I store my Posh stuff in the room where Monkey hangs out and plays video games, it's typical for me to ask him to tell me the date, as he is surrounded by devices and can usually find it faster than I can. This morning I was packing something up and asked him to tell me the date while I was writing out my little thank-you...
