Personality Flaws

I don’t think it will surprise anyone to know that I have a bit of OCD.  In some ways that is very good.  I always check my knot before climbing.  I’m super attentive to certain procedures – requiring that all steps are followed – even when I don’t want to.  And I pick paint.  I also peel wallpaper.

My first house had these fantastic wood doors that somebody had painted over in the early 60’s.  The original finish was shellac.  Which often has a waxy finish.  The lead paints that were used to cover the wood eventually lost their bond and after years of repainting – the final coats with acrylic latex paint that has mediocre adhesion but awesome stretchability – meant that there were layers of paint just bubbling and waiting for me to peel them off.  And I would.  I would spend hours peeling paint from the doors in that house – while I was talking on the phone or waiting for the laundry or just thinking.

Wallpaper fairs no better.  I actually cannot put wallpaper in my houses because I can’t resist picking at the seams.  At my old church I peeled all the wallpaper off the walls around the toilet – because that is where I would go and hide after church was over so that I wouldn’t have to sit by myself while the rest of the kids talked and played together.  Yeah.

The same goes for stickers.  I had stickers all over the top of my old laptop.  It was fine as long as the edges stayed down, but the first time a corner started to peel and it took every last bit of my willpower not to start picking away.  I  may yet succumb.  And when I bought my new laptop, the first thing I did was peel all of the stickers off – all but the microsoft sticker with the operating system code.  All the stickers on the palm rests are gone.  Actually, that is true for all of my computers.  Same goes for books.  I always peel the price stickers off.  When I was buying used books from the college bookstore, I would peel off the often several layers of used stickers as I was reading.  And if there was glue left, I’d use mineral oil to remove it (note: mineral oil as in baby oil or body oil does a great job at removing sticker glue without damaging most surfaces).

Now I pick at my dog.  Fate would have it that my dog sheds in a way few non-Akita owning pet owners can understand.  Her fur comes out in handfuls.  It has been coming out in handfulls for almost two months now.  It will continue to come out in handfuls until June.  I can fill a trash bag with fur in less than 20 minutes and not have made a dent in her shedding coat.  But what is worst is that she gets these tufts of hair that have totally released from the skin and are sticking up and out but that are held in place by the curly nature of the adjacent hair.  See, her undercoat looks like somebody took their toddler’s super fine hair and put it in one of those ’80’s hair crimpers.  It’s all kinky and wavy and super thick.  And it sticks together.  Except for the little tufts which come loose, and which I cannot resist pulling.  I cannot resist.

Dog is trying to figure this behavior out.  It isn’t petting.  It isn’t playing.  What it is is a kind of primate-esque grooming where I pick at the tufts of under coat and pull the not quite loose hair loose.  I don’t think it hurts her, but this is our first full shed-season together and I know she has never had this kind of scrutiny.  And I can’t help it.  She walks by with a tuft sticking out and it turns into a fifteen minute grooming session where I’m picking at her undercoat and making neat little piles of hair sorted according to color.  White and coarse for the underbelly, white and soft for the chest and legs, gray for around the neck, and black for the back and head.

Tonight I started to pick at her hair and realized that she was so dirty that I couldn’t sort the piles.  To the bath we went – note dragging a 75lb dog by the scruff of her neck is much easier on hardwood and tile floors than on carpet – the sliding, while somewhat distressing to the animal I’m sure, is actually fairly easy.  Poor dog.  So I half carried and half drug her into the bathroom, lifted her into the tub and gave her a bath.  By the time we were done it looked like a small animal had exploded in there.  The amount of hair in the tub and one the floor and the walls and the mirror and the window and the toilet and the sink and the cabinet is almost enough to pet.  I was half thinking of filling her next toy with her own hair – except for the mess that would make when she tears it open.  I have yet to clean it up actually.  Procrastinating.  Or waiting for it to dry enough to be sweepable – your pick.

You’d think that after that kind of activity all of the loose hair would have been loosened.  Not so.  I’m still being taunted by tufts.  And poor Dog has no patience for my manhandling left.  I don’t blame her.

Last night the rats came back – but with interesting results.  The first one started screaming from his perch on the plumbing pipes right under by bed at 2:30 am.  I think he fell of the pipes at that point and beelined for the exit – which I heard him fall out of and then squeal again before climbing the fence and running off.  The second rat was about an hour later.  It didn’t squeal, but I heard it both enter and leave the crawlspace – the first leisurely, and the second in a hot hurry.  So the pepper-spray jelly seems to be working.  I took the day off work to work on my thesis – made significant progress – today so I wasn’t so anxious about waking up in the middle of the night to listen to the rats.  I was almost amused even.  If I go two nights in a row without activity, then I can seal up the entrances with relative confidence that I haven’t trapped anything under the house.  I do not want to trap anything under the house.  The fact that I’m now attuned to their noises means that they’ll have a hard time coming and going without me knowing it.

It’s one of life’s little ironies.  I’ve always been a light sleeper, but I became very easily awakened when I lived in my first apartment/cottage.  People would deal drugs and steal from the cars parked next to my little house, and I learned to listen for the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside.  It got so that even with the windows closed and the wind blowing and the rain coming down I could hear someone walking by my building at night – no matter how deeply asleep I was.  My first two apartments in Sacramento were situated so that I had no direct access to paths of travel – and it was wonderful – I almost never woke up because something was wandering around outside.  But this house is different.  I hear the people walking by on the street at night – and they are walking by at all hours.  I also hear the dogs and the stray cats as they move about at night.  And I hear the rats.  I can hear them when they are on my fence.  I know when they cross the gate by my room and I know when they climb up the water heater enclosure to get access to the roof.  The sound of a rat on the fence will wake me up.

The sound of a person outside my window will actually get me out of bed.  It’s happened.

So last night I got to listen to the rats as they navigated their slightly altered environment.  I’m looking forward to closing them out of my house.  Not that I’ll sleep all that much better – there is always some noise in this ‘hood that needs attention – but at least I won’t be wondering if something is going to be crawling across my bed as I’m trying to sleep.

My next home will be in a townhouse or apartment up above the street level.  I feel a lot more secure when I know that whatever it is that may want to come visit me needs to navigate 12 or 15 feet of vertical space first.

So yeah.  OCD Paranoia.  And you know what?  Those are the personality bits that I’m actually comfortable with.  They’re useful.  Kind of.

Mile 3

I know why I over-indulge when I drink alone.  I have no base of reference for my intoxication level when I am alone.  I’m not talking or trying to follow a conversation that I might be expected to contribute to.  I’m not moving around much.  I’m not really engaged in anything that requires specific skills.  I’m sitting and reading or writing.  Sometimes also knitting.  Sometimes also picking out chords on my guitar.  But that’s about it.  I won’t realize how intoxicated I am until I stand up to go to the kitchen or the bathroom and realize that I’m swaying.

I know that right now, with things as intense as they are, I shouldn’t drink alone.  I’m so pent-up all the time – so anxious and so stressed that even the vilest of liquor goes down like water and as soon as I start to feel even a little relaxed I want to feel a lot relaxed.  My self-control goes out the window.

Until 6 am that is.

And that is over sleeping.  That means I don’t get to workout in the morning.  That means I’m going to struggle getting to work on time.

So that was today.  Last night I got done with work and the gym and hit the books and at 9 pm I realized I was clenching my teeth and my shoulders were up around my ears and I was cranky so I had a vodka.  Then another.  Then, because I was feeling alright, a third.  This morning, when the alarm went off at 4:45, which is when I’m supposed to get up if I want to make it to the gym, I turned it off.  When the second alarm (I have to have a backup system.  There are three total) went off at 5:50, I thought it was still 4:45 and turned it off too.  When the third went off at 6, I knew things were bad.  Bad bad bad.

I went to work, and it hurt.  I got stuff done, but it was not pretty or efficient.

Then I went to my noon weightlifting class (Because student loan regulations require that I remain a half time student to keep my deferral and that meant taking another class.  Only I wanted one that had no writing required and minimal reading.) and it hurt too.  Actually my wrist is hurting again, and the weights really accentuate it.  I’m not sure if it is that it is still weak from the surgery last year or if it is the fact that the growth on the tendon is back.  Hard to know.  I mostly ignore it, but sometimes it gets a little persistent.  No matter, no health insurance, no fixing it.

After weightlifting class I put on my headphones and went for a run.  This was the first time I have run without Dog is so long that I can’t actually remember.  I knew that she slowed me down.  I knew that she stressed me out on our runs because I am constantly aware of the other runners and bicyclists and squirrels around me and I have to make sure that she and they are all safe.  And she has this habit of getting distracted and looking one way while she’s running the other and running into me and tripping me up so that we end up in a literal “dog pile”.  This is not to say that I don’t like running with her, but I do not get an endorphin high when we run together.  And I’m often frustrated and irritable after our runs – partly from the extra attention I have to pay and  partly because she must Pee on Everything and the constant stopping makes me nuts.

Today, though, was different.  It was sunny and calm and about 65 degrees.  The trail in the middle of the day was almost empty.  And even though every step hurt and I could feel the alcohol leaching from my system, I kept going.  Then I hit mile 3.  I felt the last of the alcohol leave my pores.  I instantly had my first endorphin hit in a couple of weeks, and for the remaining 2 miles I didn’t think about work or about my thesis or about my sore shoulder or about the fact that I’m 3000 miles overdue for an oil change, or that I need to clean the dog poop out of the yard, or that the leaves have blocked my gutter and there are mosquitoes breeding up there, or any of it.  It was just me and the trail and the sunshine filtered through the baby leaves of the still winter bare trees and the green grass and the river and a good soundtrack.  Who knew you could run to Snoop Dogg?

I didn’t get as much work done the rest of the day as I’d hoped.  But I finished what I’d planned to finish.  Mostly though, I remembered that there is a reason that I’m not supposed to drink alone, and it is because the real relaxation is not in the bottle.  If I want it, I have to make time for it – and not at 6 in the morning or 7:30 at night or whenever I’m trying to jam in my workouts in the dark.  And most of all, I have to quit this thing were I feel guilty if I decide to run without Dog.  She is doing ok.  Skipping a 5 mile run here or there isn’t going to ruin her life.

Mile 3.  It’s the magic mile.  I’d forgotten.  I’m glad I remembered.

Liquor is Quicker…

I’m not an alcoholic, I just…

Yeah, that phrase isn’t at all suspicious.

Dog is on a mission to lay down in every spot in the house to see which is best.  She just did her circle and flop routine in the closet.  It’s not even a big closet.  But there she is, wedged between the high-heeled sandals that I never got a chance to wear this summer, and the black satin evening gown that I’ve never worn in public.  If I didn’t know better I’d think she was making commentary on my jeans and t-shirt/slacks and button down lifestyle – the lifestyle that does not involve ever looking or acting like a girl.

Not that I’m all about the nail-polish and the designer handbag.  I have this theory about women, the more high-maintenance their hairstyle/nails/make-up, the more high-maintenance their personality.  And honestly, I don’t have the time or energy for it.

Men, on the other hand seem to feel differently.  I guess there is something to those high-maintenance girls that they find appealing.  I wouldn’t know.  I haven’t been on so much as a date in… well, if I’m being honest, it has been a very long time.  I’m all about making do, so I try to count the things that really don’t count.  I’m great at making friends.  And I’m good at fostering a certain level of intimacy.  But that is not dating.  That is hanging out with friends.  Everyone goes home alone.

I’m not complaining, or rather, I am complaining, but I don’t expect any sort of resolution.  This is my choice.  Or my sentence.  Not sure which.  Someone asked today if I love Dog.  I care about Dog.  I want Dog to be happy and to have a good life.  I want to do what I can to aid in that.  But Love?  Love is a strong word.  I feel the same way about my friends – I want them to be happy and to have good lives and in that way I love them.  But Love?  No.  Not Love.  I think about my life and there are a lot of things that I would really dislike giving up, but there is nothing here now that I could not walk away from – without looking back.

This is what I’d hoped that having Dog around would change.  I’m so emotionally detached from everything around me, I’d hoped she would help me reconnect.  And in some ways she’s been a godsend.  I like having her here.  I like having something that is happy to see me when I get home at night.  I like having something that is excited when I wake up in the morning.  It is soothing to my ego.  I feel a little less invisible – a little less expendible than I used to.

At the same time, I know that my status in her life is a matter of chance.  If not me, someone else.  Or no-one else.  It all ends up the same.  Worm-food.

In a conversation with my mother today I told her I have no expectation of making it to fifty.  She was telling me that fifty feels so young.  I do not doubt her.  I feel young now and it isn’t until I look in the mirror that I remember that I’m now counting my age by decades.  At the same time I want to be done.  So badly do I want to be done.

This is something that I didn’t want to write about here.  I’ve done the pathos thing.  I’ve gone through the therapy and the drugs and the whole deal.  I did not want another of my writing experiments to spiral down into the realm of constant-self pity.  Yet, it is self-pity or nothing at all.  It is where I live.  It is where I’ve lived for a long time now.  I comfort myself these days by promising myself that if it ever gets that bad again I have permission to check out.  To call it good.  To be done.  To die.  And then I keep adjusting the definition of that so it doesn’t include the now.  Because I’m not quite ready yet.   Not yet.  Though I’m close.  I’ve been close for a long time now.  I don’t know what to do with that.

I have the best friends in the world right now.  I have people that I care deeply for and that I know care about me.  I have shelter and intellectual stimulation and a constantly growing set of hobbies.  I do whatever I can to keep my mind occupied.  And when I know that I cannot keep it occupied, I deaden it with booze.  But I also know that I am lonely.  I’ve been lonely for so long that it is part and parcel of my self-identity.  When I dream at night, I dream about what it is like to be alone.  When I daydream about the future, there is no-one else around.  This is it.  Not even my subconscious believes that this will ever change.

The funny thing is that I watch my friends and neighbors as they navigate their relationship drama, and I want nothing to do with any of it.  I almost feel superior – with my emotional detachment and what-not.  Almost.  Then I remember how many years I’ve spent alone.  Years.

I’m living by a new policy these days – get as much life lived as I can as fast as I can.  I don’t expect to live to a ripe old age.  It would be foolish to pretend that I’ll have time to do the things I want to do later.  I won’t.  And as I’m not stuck with anyone else to worry about, there’s nothing to slow me down.  So when this life gets old – and I know it will – I’ll be in a place where I can end it without guilt or regret.

In the meantime, it is a matter of endurance.  And balance.  Liquor is indeed quicker, but just how much booze does it take to erase the lonely?  Maybe I should make a scientific study out of it.

Adrenaline and the Dog Walk

One of the biggest struggles I’ve had since Ryder came to live with me is making sure she gets enough exercise.  She spends a lot of time alone.  And while she seems to mainly sleep during that time, it means that when I get home she wants to play.

She loves the walks at the park, especially when I’m tired.  This is because when I’m tired, I tend to stroll and let her have a loose leash and stop when she wants to smell something and pretty much let her determine our pace.  She is less impressed with the brisk walks where I make her mind her manners.  And she downright pouts when I make her run.  It’s almost impossible to pee on everything that smells peeable when we’re running.

For the last two weeks my ankle has been bothering me.  Mostly it is fine, but then it will suddenly have this sharp shooting pain that will make it very painful to even walk.  Sometimes I can limp through it and it will quit.  And sometimes it doesn’t happen at all.  It is very sporadic, but getting worse, and it is because I need new running shoes.  And also probably a break.  But mostly new shoes.

Today the pain in my ankle was so bad that I was limping by the time I got home.  I put ice on it for a while, but when it came time to take Ryder to the park, I left the ice at home, took a couple of advil and decided to see how it would go.  It hurt at first, and then got better for a while and then started to hurt again when we were at the baseball diamond at the far end of the park.  I decided to sit for a bit to rest it, and she was tugging at the leash to smell the trees and kept getting tangled in the table and in the garbage can and in my legs.

So I let her off the leash.

I’ve done this twice before and both times she came back when I called.  Both times she never got more than about 30 feet from me.  Both times everything was fine.  So I assumed this time would be fine too.  It was late, there were no other dogs around.  Traffic had died down, there were no people about, I thought it would be fine.

It was not fine.

She wouldn’t come back when I called.  She’d stop and look at me, and then turn and keep trotting away.  When she got to the edge of the diamond I realized that she was just about out of my range of control and got up to follow her, calling her all the while.  She just kept trotting away, looking over her shoulder to see if I was still coming, and then continuing on.  I started jogging after her because she was getting close to the edge of the park and would soon have to cross the street.  When she saw that I was jogging, she started to really move.

This is when I realized that she wasn’t going to stop or listen or come back to me by command.  This is when I realized that she would probably run all the way back to where we usually park the car – which meant crossing two streets and a parking lot – and then who knows what would happen when she remembered that wasn’t where we parked the car this time.  This is when I realized that I would have to catch her by then or else…

This is when I started running for reals.

Now, running is a thing I do.  But I seldom go all out for more than what it takes to cross the finish line.  It has been a long time since I tried to see how long I can run at top speed.  Apparently it is a lot longer than I used to.

I had almost caught up with her when she crossed the first road.  Thank god there was no traffic and I thought just maybe she’d get distracted by the duck pond and everything would be ok.  We passed a cyclist who said something in Chinese as he passed me.  And then we passed the pond – she didn’t even slow.  By this time she was loping along, glancing to make sure I was following and having a grand old time.

If I hadn’t been afraid of the cars and the potential that she might hurt someone or that someone might hurt her, I would have handled this differently.  If, if, if.  As it was, I’d run one of the fastest half miles of my life when she cruised on past another runner going the other way.  Apparently she liked him because she stopped for a moment.  This is where I made my mistake.

I started to sprint.

I didn’t know I could run faster than I was, but then there I was almost flying.  I was having visions of her pulling some sort of snarling biting thing – though she has never bitten anyone.  Killed ducks and chickens and goats, yes, but never bitten a person.

There was a couple of seconds where she looked like she was going to approach this person.  He crouched down and called to her and she seemed taken by this.  And then she saw me coming fast and she took off again.  The guy stood up and saw me coming and asked if she bit.

I told him no, but that she didn’t know about cars.  He took off after her too, running as fast as he could.  He had about 60 feet on me so he was closer, and Ryder, well, she thought this was the bestest game ever.

I was right about where she was headed – straight for the usual parking spot.  I also lucked out.  He got there right after she did and when she stopped to wonder where the car was, he called to her and she went right up to him.  When I came gallumping up a couple of seconds later, he had her by the collar and was scratching her ears and she looked all sorts of pleased and a little confused.

I haven’t been that afraid since I don’t remember when.  It was my fault, my stupidity, my assumptions and it could have been a disaster.  When I finally had her leash back on her, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to hug her or kick her.  I was so relieved and so angry.

I profusely thanked the man who caught her.  I felt like such an idiot – taking the leash off of an Akita in a public space was an incredibly stupid thing to do.  All because I was feeling tired and sore.  And there I had just run a mile at full speed and I hadn’t even noticed my ankle, or the fact that I was running in sandals, or that I was so tired.

I can tell you I’m noticing it now.

He was generous and told me it was ok.  No harm done, he’d got a good run out of it.  And when he stood up to leave, I had the very strong urge to introduce myself – which is not something that ever happens, especially when I’ve been caught being criminally stupid.  I found that even in that short of a time, I had a positive impression about him – apparently my dog has good taste – that initial impression is never wrong.  Sometimes I ignore it, but it is never wrong.

I have learned my lesson.  This dog will never get to be an off leash dog.  Next time she gets all wistful watching some other dog playing fetch in the park, I’ll remind her of this little adventure and why she cannot be allowed to play fetch in the park.  Or sniff things unattended.  Or participate in any of those other off leash adventures that more responsible dogs get to do.

God, I sound like a parent.

Things I have learned:

Leashes are forever.

I need to do more all out running intervals – I was thinking today that I wasn’t going to make my time goal for my next race – if anything was going to change that some serious speed intervals would be the trick.

And I need to take a couple of days and let my ankle heal.  Maybe while I wait for my new running shoes.

Oh, and one more.  I think I might start running at night.  🙂

Pending…

It seems like my life tends to ebb and flow at a remarkable rate.  Maybe this is true for everyone.  But, I haven’t been anyone else, so all I know is what happens to me.  And lately?  That’s been a lot.  If this is more of a rundown than a thoughtful interpretation, well, I’ve spent more time this last week sitting in front of a computer than anything else – including sleeping.  Especially sleeping.  If this thing was anywhere else, I’d be there instead of here.  But here it is, so here I am.

First of all, I have a new job.  An internship really.  No benefits.  A slight cut in pay.  And a set of tasks that are truly challenging.  Yes, there is a lot of mundane.  But there is more that is interesting and important and just plain challenging.  Best of all, what I’m doing is what I’ve been learning to do.  It’s helping – albeit helping from a municipal position.  Which is a bureaucratic position.  Which is its own problem.  But that’s the system as it exists.  It is entrenched.  So entrenched that any change is going to come from within.  And I’m within a pretty good place.

I will say that I’m not used to working with so many people.  I’m at this workstation that is mostly open to the room, and there is constant traffic.  The first couple of days I found that I was having a ridiculously hard time keeping any sort of focus.  It’s gotten better, but I’m still astounded by the amount of walking and talking people do – while at the same time getting a pretty impressive amount of work done – or at least that is my impression.  The overall vibe is amazingly positive.  People are there because they want to be there – it is their career.  I think once I settle in, I’ll do well.  As it is, I’m still finding my stride.  Which has been more difficult than usual.

This is finals week.  I never thought that getting a Master’s degree would be easy.  However, even I’m impressed with the quantity and quality of information I’ve absorbed so far.  I keep running across people who are also pursuing post-graduate degrees.  I’ve started judging their programs by the number of bags under their eyes.  The darker the circles, the more sincere the education.  I’ve yet to rigorously test this theory, but I imagine I will.  I seem to be in that mode lately.

Anyway, this week has been one of the most intense I remember.  I mean, I can remember weeks where I had more homework, but then I was already stable in my job.  And I remember being new to my job, but it was the start of the semester and easy-going.  Both at the same time should be sending me right over the edge.  On top of that I haven’t had the time to get into the gym like I usually do.  Nor have I been exercising in the mornings like I’d planned.  I get up at the crack of dawn, work until dusk, go to class, go home, and then crash.  And the day’s I don’t work are the same, only I study.  Yet I’ve been surprisingly stable.

I think part of it is the new job.  It feels like I’m finally on the right path.  Even the hives have started to clear up.  And I know that part of it is that I’m simply getting used to this.  And I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I’ll be able to breathe come Tuesday.  Four days.  I can stand most anything for four days.

But I think the biggest change has been my new housemate.  Her name is Ryder and she’s an 80 lb Akita that belongs to my brother.  There are a lot of reasons that she ended up living here with me.  I mean, my house is not that big, and that is a lot of dog.  Plus, she’s 5 years old, which is middle age for Akitas.  Beyond that, she’s never really been a house dog – or even a suburban dog for that matter – let alone an urban critter.  She’s lived most of her life in a kennel out on a large piece of property in the country.  She was in the kennel not because she is aggressive or unstable, but because she is a natural hunter, and for prey is anything smaller than she is – and some things considerably larger.  After killing quite a few chickens, harassing enough cats, and playing with a goat until it could no longer walk, my brother had to keep her locked up.

So when somebody jumped my fence one night a few weeks ago while I wasn’t home, and after repeated eggings, and now that I’ve started noticing a lot of new people wandering around my neighborhood and a growing stream of obviously drugged out folks loitering around the abandoned duplex across the way, I finally started seriously thinking about getting a dog.  I had only to mention this to my brother and he offered to bring her here on a trial basis.  Here there are no chickens to kill (at least not anymore) or goats to play with, and I’m totally ok if she wants to chase the cats out of the yard.  It’s a small yard.  And she’s already filled it full of holes hiding buried tennis balls and rawhide bones.  But I’m ok with all of that.  I’m ok with the amazing quantities of hair.  I’m even ok with the lingering scent of dog that follows here everywhere she goes.  I don’t mind picking up poop.  And so far, I’ve been amazingly consistent with feeding times and water checking.  And I’m calm.  Even though I can feel the need to get to the gym growing, even though I’m under an incredible amount of pressure with new job and finals and papers and healthcare and money problems and far too much social isolation, I’m calm.

I talk to her constantly, which makes sense because she follows me around the house like a paranoid sycophant.  Actually she looks more intelligent than that.  She watches everything I do, as though she’s taking notes.  And she’s curious about everything.  The best part about a mature dog is that when she encounters something new, she doesn’t need to be taught over and over what the allowed behaviors are.  I had to tell her twice not to put her paws on the counter (she’d never been in a house before, so she didn’t know) and now she doesn’t even think about it.  She walks away from food when I tell her to.  She stops the seconds I say “no”, or even “nuh uh” which is more my style.  I save the “no” for the serious stuff, like paws on the counter, or the white chair.

It took a few days but I’m getting used to having another critter in the house.  I still wake up when she moves around, but I’ve noticed that my overall anxiety about sleeping has reduced.  There’s something about having another set of ears on that lets me drop my guard a bit.  It’s a relief, really.  Because lately I’d been jumping every time the fridge switched on.

There is another component to this experiment with the dog.  Beyond the security and the company, I’m testing the waters of attachment.  I’ve decided to let myself learn to really care about this animal.  I have become a master of detachment.  It is a long story, but with the exception of a very few people who have either been grandfathered in, or who, by some cosmic fluctuation managed to find me at the right time, I’ve learned to meet people, associate with them, and then leave when the leaving time came – all without the emotional turmoil and grief usually associated with such activities.  And I haven’t been emotionally engaged with an animal since I was 16.  It’s occurred to me that if I intend to ever actually use my heart, I’d best break it out of the safe it’s been hibernating in.  This is me cracking the combination.

So my life has been in high turmoil.

I’m so ready for this summer.  I have plans.  Grand plans, because really, should there be any other kind?