Charlotte home from vet, 10:27 am, Vitamin K in hand along with two other expensive medications, making my morning a $413 morning! Woo hoo. She looks to be fine and has pooped not once, but twice today! Fast asleep on the couch, surely still reveling in her victory!
And the irony....
Just as we were leaving the vet a quite normal looking woman walked in with a carrying case full of her rat, who had just eaten licorice. If only my dog had eaten a licorice.
Motherhood.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
A dog of a different story
I adopted a pit bull almost 4 months ago. It was an impulsive decision, as all of my decisions are. It was the right decision for me. It was fate, at a time when fate was not working out as intended, not that one can intend fate. Charlie was 8 pounds when I found her, she was beautiful, small, vulnerable with a permanently furrowed brow and she was all one color, her coat, her eyes and her nose are a reddish, light brown. She had an intense gaze, I picked her up in my arms, she licked my face and I looked at the shelter owner, Robert, and said "I really don't have the right lifestyle for a puppy." He looked at me flat in the face and said, "come on, do it, dogs are not that much work." He was dead wrong, but he was right too, he knew, like cupid knows when a lover has met his match, that I had met my fate. This dog was meant for me.
...I started this post about an hour ago and since then my dog has ingested a dead rat. This was going to be a loving ode to the being that changed my life, instead I sit here deliberating, do I shell out $500 to get a vet to make my dog throw up, do I give her bydrogen peroxide to make her throw up, do I cross my fingers and assume the paper thin, flattened out, 5 days dead rat probably died by car and not by poison? An hour later it probably makes no sense for me to make her throw up, spend $500 for someone else to make her throw up. All I have left to do is wait it out. And so I will wait it out.
Let me tell you what NEVER to do in this situation, google. Google leads to severe paranoia and will inevitably be the reason for my sleepless night. That and the fact that I own a dog who would likely eat shit and find it a delicacy. I have no idea. Am I bad mother for allowing this to sit for 24 hours? Should I run to the vet with her in my arms? She is a pit afterall and not that small either. I assume she should be fine.
My parents never got worried when I got sick. The reality of being a doctors daughter is that nothing is ever really that bad if its not brain surgery related. And I wonder if I get my lax attitude from them. My mom never carried tissues in her pocket, my father never thought it was worth skipping school due to sickness. I called him on the phone just now and told him that my dog swallowed a rat whole and he said, eh- wait it out, the chances it was poisonous are slim to none. Just like that. And then suggested that I keep rats out of her diet for the next few days.
I love my dog. It scares me that I have this responsibility, but in a way, that was the point. I wanted to give myself something to love more then myself, that I would have to commit to and follow through on, unlike so much else in my life....and here we are today, on my couch, she is snoozing and I am wondering at which part of her digestive tract does this rat lay, and I mean tail and all.
And of course, what does this entire experience highlight. The fact that I am alone. I am all alone. Are you supposed to take care of a dog alone? I always envisioned this kind of project one I would do with a partner and accepting this on my own was this understated, or overstated as the case may be, submission to the thought that perhaps there would be no partner for me in the end. That perhaps, something like this, would be something I would have to do on my own.
Thinking back I should have just stuck my hand in there and pulled that rat out, i just could NOT handle the thought of touching it. I am so worried about this.
...I started this post about an hour ago and since then my dog has ingested a dead rat. This was going to be a loving ode to the being that changed my life, instead I sit here deliberating, do I shell out $500 to get a vet to make my dog throw up, do I give her bydrogen peroxide to make her throw up, do I cross my fingers and assume the paper thin, flattened out, 5 days dead rat probably died by car and not by poison? An hour later it probably makes no sense for me to make her throw up, spend $500 for someone else to make her throw up. All I have left to do is wait it out. And so I will wait it out.
Let me tell you what NEVER to do in this situation, google. Google leads to severe paranoia and will inevitably be the reason for my sleepless night. That and the fact that I own a dog who would likely eat shit and find it a delicacy. I have no idea. Am I bad mother for allowing this to sit for 24 hours? Should I run to the vet with her in my arms? She is a pit afterall and not that small either. I assume she should be fine.
My parents never got worried when I got sick. The reality of being a doctors daughter is that nothing is ever really that bad if its not brain surgery related. And I wonder if I get my lax attitude from them. My mom never carried tissues in her pocket, my father never thought it was worth skipping school due to sickness. I called him on the phone just now and told him that my dog swallowed a rat whole and he said, eh- wait it out, the chances it was poisonous are slim to none. Just like that. And then suggested that I keep rats out of her diet for the next few days.
I love my dog. It scares me that I have this responsibility, but in a way, that was the point. I wanted to give myself something to love more then myself, that I would have to commit to and follow through on, unlike so much else in my life....and here we are today, on my couch, she is snoozing and I am wondering at which part of her digestive tract does this rat lay, and I mean tail and all.
And of course, what does this entire experience highlight. The fact that I am alone. I am all alone. Are you supposed to take care of a dog alone? I always envisioned this kind of project one I would do with a partner and accepting this on my own was this understated, or overstated as the case may be, submission to the thought that perhaps there would be no partner for me in the end. That perhaps, something like this, would be something I would have to do on my own.
Thinking back I should have just stuck my hand in there and pulled that rat out, i just could NOT handle the thought of touching it. I am so worried about this.
Monday, April 13, 2009
another day
I am drunk and I thought I would write in the moment. I cant believe that Heidi even would put Spencer in therapy, can a therapist really change a man who is just all wrong? I remember when Dean suggested we go to therapy, and we were already in trouble because he was already pathologically cheating on me. Therapy, what does it really do. I met a boy on Saturday night, I am sure it was nothing, but he was awfully nice to my brothers and I have a photo of him looking at me like he meant it. I don't know. He is hot.
Write more tomorrow.
Write more tomorrow.
28 Years ago
I always know when it has set in. Food starts to taste different. I can't swallow it. My head is heavy and it takes my hand an extra long time to grab the receiver of the phone and my mouth falls behind my voice in mouthing the words, "hello?" I can feel my heart beating. I smoke cigarettes, I lose weight, I sit on my couch a lot, I stop talking to my friends, I can't finish anything I start. I start watching movies constantly, so I can pretend I am somebody else. I'm depressed, I guess. Usually precedes a big change or follows a traumatic experience. Or is just the day after I run into Dean. Or I work a job I really don't want to. Or I realize I have been in the same place for too long. Or I hear another musician that just is not good enough and wonder how the world will turn out altogether. Nothing is really how it was. Nothing is really how it is going to be. Nothing is kind of uncomfortable.
1981 is about to turn into 28 years ago.
UGH.
1981 is about to turn into 28 years ago.
UGH.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
?!#$%
All we can remember is what tore us both us apart
Instead of what's forgotten at the bottom of our hearts
Smiles filled the silences and laughter filled the sound
And everyday was more important when you were around.
Instead of what's forgotten at the bottom of our hearts
Smiles filled the silences and laughter filled the sound
And everyday was more important when you were around.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Citizens of Humanity
Red Out Loud had a nightmare about being fat last night. She dreamed that being between a size 4 and 6 was just not acceptable. She dreamed that this number defined her. She dreamed this and woke up depressed feeling unloved, minus her puppy that she was comfortably spooning.
Why do you think size, weight, looks, so often define the way a woman feels about herself? I mean, should we not, by now, in our later 20's, recognize that it is what is on the inside that counts? It is funny for me, my weight fluctuates frequently, generally with my mood. Because I take certain things to heart, my body reacts, nerves make me nauseaus, sadness makes me crave, anger makes me stop. My weight never fluctuates because I think I should look a certain way. It is always just a natural reaction to something that is happening to me.
Right now in my life, I can admit, I am uneasy, however nothing is happening to me and my weight, after losing so much of myself in Dean, has reached its normal number. And somehow it is the only thing on my mind. I feel fat, but I know I am not and if I was, I know there would be nothing wrong with it. Regardless. I am a size 2. I am 5'3. I am tiny. I have never been called otherwise. Yet, its on my mind.
And as I obsess about it, what to eat that day, what not to eat, as I stare at my body, unclothed, in the mirror, I think, this must be about something else. I must be worrying about something else, or many things, it can not literally be my appearance.
I hope I put my finger on it soon, actually, I hope I squash whatever it is with my whole palm. I never want to have a dream about my weight again. It is a waste of my quietest hours, dreams should fill with my greatest ideas, hopes, desires, even my fears. Not some issue that really is just the top of a casket full of the heart of the matter.
How do you grow from a nightmare about your jean size?
Why do you think size, weight, looks, so often define the way a woman feels about herself? I mean, should we not, by now, in our later 20's, recognize that it is what is on the inside that counts? It is funny for me, my weight fluctuates frequently, generally with my mood. Because I take certain things to heart, my body reacts, nerves make me nauseaus, sadness makes me crave, anger makes me stop. My weight never fluctuates because I think I should look a certain way. It is always just a natural reaction to something that is happening to me.
Right now in my life, I can admit, I am uneasy, however nothing is happening to me and my weight, after losing so much of myself in Dean, has reached its normal number. And somehow it is the only thing on my mind. I feel fat, but I know I am not and if I was, I know there would be nothing wrong with it. Regardless. I am a size 2. I am 5'3. I am tiny. I have never been called otherwise. Yet, its on my mind.
And as I obsess about it, what to eat that day, what not to eat, as I stare at my body, unclothed, in the mirror, I think, this must be about something else. I must be worrying about something else, or many things, it can not literally be my appearance.
I hope I put my finger on it soon, actually, I hope I squash whatever it is with my whole palm. I never want to have a dream about my weight again. It is a waste of my quietest hours, dreams should fill with my greatest ideas, hopes, desires, even my fears. Not some issue that really is just the top of a casket full of the heart of the matter.
How do you grow from a nightmare about your jean size?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
The O of the XOXO
I have this strange ability to love the person I am with in the moment I am with them. And then the moment they are gone, the connection is gone and I can find another moment with another person just as easily. But I could swear in those moments, the feelings are real. And I mean, this is actually impossible, because many of those moments, seeing as I have experienced many, many moments, are with people I really hardly share words with. Perhaps its just my mistaking sexual intimacy with something emotional.
This guy I barely know slept over on Friday night. We have shared maybe 10 sentences tops between one another, but he is very hot and somehow his quiet demeanor extends a sense of intimacy to those he actually pays attention to. He is a drummer. Go figure. I hardly know anything about him, all I know is there is an intensity to him and after a bunch of grey goose on the rocks/splash sodas/two limes I suppose I felt comfortable eough exploring that. So we drank. We did not talk much, he followed me home to meet my dog and then he got in my bed and slept over. Body to body, feet to feet. And he wrapped his arms around me. A more intimate action then perhaps putting himself inside of me. I mean, wrapped arms around a body indicate protection, knowing, familiarity, there is no orgasm at the end, its literally an innately comforting and close feeling. So there we were, holding one another. No sex, just closeness. He stayed the morning as well. There was some fumbling, nothing major, just a body next to a body. Heating up my bed, making me feel warm.
And then he left. Hardly a goodbye and hardly a regret.
And it worked. My stress subsided just for a moment, because I got my fill. But I was held again later that day by Andrew, my neighbor/lover/locksmith/bug killer. And we have more to share, of course, we have been dancing in circles for 5 months now, but still, when it comes down to it, we hold each other. And that is it.
So my real question lies in the odd sense that people, in this city, have an impossible time figuring out how to hold one another in the figurative sense. We can jump from bed to bed feeling the intimacy of an embrace, however, we lack consistency and emotional outpour. It all lies in this open ended body locking, warm and gushy, temporary embrace.
I wonder if I was cuddled too much as a baby, or something.
Today, I walked Charlotte past her best buds Nico and Titan. Titan jumped on his hind legs to embrace me and Charlotte quickly nipped him away. I suppose not EVERY being is ok sharing his or her embrace-er. If anyone should want me all to themselves it should at least be my puppy.
This guy I barely know slept over on Friday night. We have shared maybe 10 sentences tops between one another, but he is very hot and somehow his quiet demeanor extends a sense of intimacy to those he actually pays attention to. He is a drummer. Go figure. I hardly know anything about him, all I know is there is an intensity to him and after a bunch of grey goose on the rocks/splash sodas/two limes I suppose I felt comfortable eough exploring that. So we drank. We did not talk much, he followed me home to meet my dog and then he got in my bed and slept over. Body to body, feet to feet. And he wrapped his arms around me. A more intimate action then perhaps putting himself inside of me. I mean, wrapped arms around a body indicate protection, knowing, familiarity, there is no orgasm at the end, its literally an innately comforting and close feeling. So there we were, holding one another. No sex, just closeness. He stayed the morning as well. There was some fumbling, nothing major, just a body next to a body. Heating up my bed, making me feel warm.
And then he left. Hardly a goodbye and hardly a regret.
And it worked. My stress subsided just for a moment, because I got my fill. But I was held again later that day by Andrew, my neighbor/lover/locksmith/bug killer. And we have more to share, of course, we have been dancing in circles for 5 months now, but still, when it comes down to it, we hold each other. And that is it.
So my real question lies in the odd sense that people, in this city, have an impossible time figuring out how to hold one another in the figurative sense. We can jump from bed to bed feeling the intimacy of an embrace, however, we lack consistency and emotional outpour. It all lies in this open ended body locking, warm and gushy, temporary embrace.
I wonder if I was cuddled too much as a baby, or something.
Today, I walked Charlotte past her best buds Nico and Titan. Titan jumped on his hind legs to embrace me and Charlotte quickly nipped him away. I suppose not EVERY being is ok sharing his or her embrace-er. If anyone should want me all to themselves it should at least be my puppy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)