It could be worse. Probably.
Hello! I am pleased to report that I am still here, and still cranky. Maybe I am not pleased to be cranky, I guess, but there you have it.
A couple of nights ago, Otto and I had iteration number seven thousand or so of the conversation where he says he misses my writing, and I say that nothing interesting and/or suitable to tell the world about has happened because my life is actually super boring, and he says that’s not true, and I tell him he’s not the boss of me. (Being married to me is a treat, I am sure.) I thought about it and realized I actually have plenty of things to complain about, so maybe Otto was right. But let’s not tell him. We’ve been married for 16 years and have known each other for over twice that long, but I’m trying to keep a little mystery going here. That seems like less work than actually, y’know, being a delightful spouse. (That ship sailed a long time ago. Sorry, Otto!)
And so I present to you, in no particular order, all of the things currently occupying my brain/time and creating varying levels of frustration because life is an incomprehensible slog! read more…
I hate eight
In the grand scheme of Big Life Problems, everything is fine. Let’s start with that. Because I am about to launch into a carnival of bitchery and I KNOW someone will want to bright-side it somehow or say it could definitely be worse, and you know how I feel about Hardship Olympics. So. Is my family okay; is anything on fire? Yes, and no. But am I going to complain anyway? You betcha.
Not in the mood for such? That’s fine. Catch you next time when I’m back to being funny, I guess.
Where to begin, where to begin? I think let’s start with the timeline/history of my involvement with this local dog rescue (hereafter referred to as LDR for short). That makes sense, and will be necessary background for the forthcoming bitchery. (This would be a good time to go grab your popcorn.) read more…
Ahoy, it’s a very visual pupdate!
When we last left off, all manner of plague had swept through the house, Goose was about to have an eyeball removed, and I was very busy falling in love with every single foster who came through the door, all of whom Goose hated.
I was very blasé about the surgery thing right up until the actual day. Then I was a nervous wreck. But all went well, they did a great job of making sure Goose wasn’t in any pain during her recovery, and there were really only two noteworthy issues in the aftermath.
First, that Goose just does not understand how to navigate the world in a cone. At all. She would go to get a drink and completely overshoot the water bowl. She would lift a leg to scratch the side of her face and then sit there, waving her little paw in the air and/or scraping it against the cone, thoroughly confused. When I tell you it was a VERY PITIFUL two weeks, trust me.
Second, that I’d felt totally confident in our treatment decision until the final days of waiting for her pathology to come back. And then I started worrying that they’d call and say “Well, that wasn’t anything! Too bad we removed her eye!” I wasn’t wishing for her to have something awful, you understand, but I am SUPER gifted at convincing myself I’ve done something wrong to someone I love. No worries, though, because it did turn out to be cancer. Yay? (As cancers in dogs go, this is the one to have. The eye is gone, the cancer is gone, and that’s that.) read more…
… and a tiny pirate costume
Once again, I came, I saw, I blogged, and then I disappeared. If only this was a marketable skill, I would have so much more money than I actually do. (Other things I wish were marketable skills: insomnia, snacking, still getting zits in middle age, being a hermit, and swearing.) (Honestly, I am SO GOOD at all of those things! It’s unfair that my superpowers go unrecognized, is all I’m saying.)
There was Holiday Hubbub and Dog Hubbub and Other Hubbub I would very much like to know where the word “hubbub” came from, just on general principle and also because after I type it a few times it stops seeming like a real word. Which is fine, I suppose. Because a lot of the last few months doesn’t seem like real life, either. It’s a whole theme.
I don’t think I’m even going to attempt to wrap up all the loose ends from the last post, as doing so would likely make THIS post somewhere around the length of the average novel. And it’s already quite hard to type, because someone is pouncing on and nibbling at my fingers while I do it. (Could this be avoided by sitting at my desk, instead of on my bed with said finger-eater? Yes. Will I leave my cozy pillow fort here to do so? Nope.) Alright; let’s go. read more…
All of the updates you didn’t ask for
I did not mean to leave things on such a down note, last time, but you know how it goes. Life has a way of barreling forward whether you’re ready for it or not.
So now it’s—*checking calendar*—nearly December, and there is so very much news to share!
That’s a lie. I mean, very little of it is actual news, but I will share it anyway, because ye olde blog here is now old enough to vote, so why stop now? As Otto says, I always have many words, and it’s simply for his safety that I spew some of them somewhere other than directly at him. (True story: last night when he arrived home from work I began talking AT him so earnestly, the very moment he walked in the door, that when I finally paused for air he said, “I’m going to go take my shoes off, okay?” in that hesitant, overly-careful manner one might say “I’m going to put my gun down, alright?” to a distraught person standing on a high ledge. This may have been my first clue that I was overdue for posting.)
Also this morning Goose’s vet’s office texted me that her fecal exam showed “no intestinal parasites or ova detected” and what kind of monster would I be if I kept that sort of riveting information to myself?? You understand. (Also: isn’t technology amazing? I mean, just a few years ago I would’ve had to listen to an actual human speak those words over the phone. Now they text. MAGIC.) read more…
Wipeout
As I am wont to do, I started noodling over the inevitable blog post several weeks ago. Where to start, how to do it? I couldn’t quite hit the ignition, and so it simmered in the back of my brain along with the rest of… everything… like how I should probably go get an oil change in my car and Chickadee asked me to look for something in her room and how I ordered groceries and asked for one of the pork shoulders that was on sale, “average weight: 4 lbs,” and I thought “Hmm, that’s a lot, but it’s so cheap, and I can freeze leftovers” and then they picked me one that was almost 9 pounds and it’s taking up so much room in the freezer, I really should, y’know, cook it up sometime soon.
And then, a couple of hours ago, while I was trying to do several different things at once, the phone rang. I ran to grab it and managed to trip and go sprawling so hard that I not only screamed and probably scared the absolute crap out of Monkey (who’d been upstairs doing homework but fairly flew down to see what happened), but I also managed to give myself so many lumps and bumps I eventually (after confirming that nothing was broken) settled onto the couch with a smattering of ice packs and a desire to never move again.
That seemed like a sign, I guess. So here I am. I guess it’s time, even if it took me nearly braining myself in the middle of the day for it to happen. read more…
So now it can be told (sort of)
In addition to just being largely absent here, I have been sort of talking around the elephant in the room. Really, elephant isn’t big enough. Or scary enough, either. The dragon in the room? Let’s go with that. I have been talking around a fire-breathing dragon in the room while hoping it wouldn’t, you know, set anyone on fire.
First of all: Everyone is fine. More or less. Do not fret!
Second of all: I’m still going to talk about this mostly in generalities, because the specifics aren’t mine to share. Perhaps you will wonder about the details. That’s your prerogative.
Third of all: It has been about a year of trying to figure out The Best Solution™ to a sucky situation, and it has occupied a lot of time and energy, and as these things tend to do, it has also taught me a lot about the coping methods (or lack thereof) employed by various loved ones in my life and myself. Fascinating, on an intellectual level. Maddening, sometimes, on a personal level. But that’s how it is.
Fourth of all: I moved my parents across the country and all I got was a busted foot. But I’m getting ahead of myself. read more…
You still need groceries in a dystopian hellscape
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 level of functioning is questionable at best, plus I’ve been dead on the inside for a very long time, but… eh. We all have our issues. Mine is that I’m a delicate flower and I hate everything, but what are you gonna do? I still have to pretend like I’m a willing member of the human race, or something. I guess.
So let us consider the Life Matters Of Which We Can Speak™—that is, nothing of true importance or which overlaps with other people who did not agree to ye olde Internet confessional—which are, ever so precariously, keeping me busy/somewhat sane/from hurling myself into traffic these days, shall we? Yes? Yes! read more…
More dog content? If you insist!
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 with small, opinionated dogs.
The only interesting thing on that list is the dogs, right? Right!
When we last spoke (er, when I last spoke? wrote? whatever), Grok had been with us for a few weeks and had become Goose’s new favorite chew toy. Despite his startling similarity to a disgruntled preying mantis and penchant for peeing on his own legs, Grok was a Very Good Boi, and after his neuter he was listed for adoption. I thought this was very exciting, but Otto thought this was very sad, as he was convinced that Goose needed to keep him. I remained the voice of reason—that reason being, “We cannot keep a dog just because our dog likes him”—and was thrilled when I got the message that Grok had an approved adopter who wanted to meet him. read more…
Shih Tzu Nation
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 rewired and less dangerous, and Goose is fully recovered from surgery, footloose and cone-free.
And while it’s true that we are still operating our garage door via a spare clicker my husband has literally hung on a nail in the wall with a zip-tie (klassy!), most of the broken things have been repaired or replaced.
Which of course meant it was time for more Dog Shenanigans™. read more…