So I wake up a lot during the night. So does Keith. Maybe b/c he has this tendency to constantly wrap himself up like a cocoon when he rolls over, and this leaves little in the covers department for me. So then I tug back and try to wrap us up equally. Summertime, I don’t care, but in the fall/winter, my feet get cold. Funny thing is, he talks in his sleep. Among other things last night, I heard, “Put it on your toast, for Pete’s sake!” Not sure what in the hell he may have been talking about, but the thing that got me is after he woke up a minute later I heard him click open his cell phone and saw the dim light from the display screen. So I ask the obvious question, “What time is it, baby?”
He fires back, “6:15.”
I’m like, “AWWWW,” because the alarm goes off at 6:20, and he immediately follows with, “It’s 4:30.”
Asshole that I love. Who wakes up from a dream sleep and immediately fucks with his lover like that?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Hmmmm
I'm thinking I may make it a regularity- posting on here. Now that I've facebook befriended a boatload of family members, including my mom, I have to warm up to the kind of faceboook sharing to which I am accustomed, and with these people in mind. How odd is that? I just don't want to wonder when I post something, "What would my mom and aunts think?"
I hope that doesn't make me a bad person, although it wouldn't surprise me. I try hard, but I leave a lot to be desired in the good person department sometimes. So I've heard.
I hope that doesn't make me a bad person, although it wouldn't surprise me. I try hard, but I leave a lot to be desired in the good person department sometimes. So I've heard.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
And here's how I know I'm depressed- ha
Oh sweet depression, how I’ve missed you. Our quiet nights alone—no contact with society but for the television and an occasional text message.
(Side note- “Oh shut up, Mackenzie Phillips on Oprah being aired on HLN right now. I’ve heard just about enough.”)
As the reality of autumn descended upon us, I’ve noticed all week how much sooner the darkness settles in. Further, it’s not escaped my attention that lately when the sun dips down below the rooftops on the west side of Lovering, I become some kind of wraith, shuffling around my apartment in the dark, lacking the will (and failing to see any good reason) to turn on a light.
I’m starting to sense it coming from Baillie now too. Instead of lounging on the couch or in his bed, most of this evening he lay on his stomach under the coffee table near my foot, nose down on the shag rug, sighing from time to time.
(Side note- “Okay, Nancy Grace, usually when I’m in such a state of despondency I turn to you, in order to lose myself in your unique brand of tabloid sensationalism and barbaric behavior to your guests and callers. Oh, and of course, the pictures of the twins. Tonight, however, your shrill voice is far too much for my bruised soul.” [MUTE])
Today on the way home I stopped at the Valero for a pack of Monarch ultra light 100’s and a 6 pack of Genny. Yes, Genessee beer. Tall boys in all their majestic aluminum can glory. I have no problem buying ghetto like that. As I wait in line behind the two chicks ahead of me, I am hearing a conversation between the cashier and first chick in line. Turns out the credit card machines are down. Motherless F, I say (in my head). So I am forced to use the gas station ATM, which means at least a $4 charge after the convenience fee and my subsequent bank fee. I really hate my bank. I bitch about it all the time. I should totally switch banks, but it just seems like too much of a hassle. I digress, and far too often. What I was getting at, is that I just lost all the financial savings of going ghetto with my cigarette/beer purchase.
I continue on my way home, and as I’m heading up the Skyway I’m graced with the sudden cognizance that yes, three out of five work days a week, I am stuck behind a large, lumbering semi on the Skyway. A lovely added feature of this week has been the subtle grinding of my rotors, as I’m fairly certain my brakes need to be replaced. Which makes me think this afternoon, in my already gloomy state, “I could have used that $4 I wasted at the ATM for my brake repair fund (which I’ve yet to establish).”
None of that crap really matters. I was using above petty grievances in a lame attempt to find some humor in the fact I gave one of my dogs up last weekend. What the fuck was I thinking?? Yes, Max was a barker, and yes, Baillie often snarled at and terrorized him, which made me feel bad for Max, while he was just as much an antagonist. Sure, I hadn’t slept in my bed in my bedroom more than five times since early springtime due to Max’s incessant barking in the night and disturbing my downstairs neighbor and friend. And of course Max's life is better now… he’s with a family with kids, in a house, goes on five walks a day, has someone home all day with him so isn’t alone 11 hours at a stretch, eats gourmet canned dog food, has his choice of three beds at night in which to curl up (while I’d been insisting he sleep in his dog bed recently, instead of with me, or me and Keith the nights he's here). Now Max has got a new collar with his new phone number listed. Hell, I still had him wearing the tag with my old number at my second last place in Hamburg, where I haven’t lived since April 2005.
I’m in some eerie stage where I’m trying to adapt, and it’s not happening yet. Hate this. Good thing I'm able to sleep in my bed again, because the only thing I want to do is sleep. I'm thinking now might be a good time to quit smoking and drinking once and for all, because I really couldn't be more depressed. I think I heard on Jane Velez Mitchell that this month is National Recovery Month or something. What else do I have to lose but some raging addictions?
Of course I don't mean that. I'd never quit smoking and drinking. And of course, prior statement was another weak attempt at dark humor. But seriously, I'm not so ill-affected to think I don't have anything left to lose. I'm just wallowing in grief at present. I'll figure it out. If I didn't think Max would be better off, I would never have made such a move. He loves everyone, anyhow. So different from Baillie. It was at the point where I guess they needed to be separated, and the one who could survive without me was Max. End of story.
So why does all this sound so much like I'm trying to rationalize my decision to myself?
(Side note- “Oh shut up, Mackenzie Phillips on Oprah being aired on HLN right now. I’ve heard just about enough.”)
As the reality of autumn descended upon us, I’ve noticed all week how much sooner the darkness settles in. Further, it’s not escaped my attention that lately when the sun dips down below the rooftops on the west side of Lovering, I become some kind of wraith, shuffling around my apartment in the dark, lacking the will (and failing to see any good reason) to turn on a light.
I’m starting to sense it coming from Baillie now too. Instead of lounging on the couch or in his bed, most of this evening he lay on his stomach under the coffee table near my foot, nose down on the shag rug, sighing from time to time.
(Side note- “Okay, Nancy Grace, usually when I’m in such a state of despondency I turn to you, in order to lose myself in your unique brand of tabloid sensationalism and barbaric behavior to your guests and callers. Oh, and of course, the pictures of the twins. Tonight, however, your shrill voice is far too much for my bruised soul.” [MUTE])
Today on the way home I stopped at the Valero for a pack of Monarch ultra light 100’s and a 6 pack of Genny. Yes, Genessee beer. Tall boys in all their majestic aluminum can glory. I have no problem buying ghetto like that. As I wait in line behind the two chicks ahead of me, I am hearing a conversation between the cashier and first chick in line. Turns out the credit card machines are down. Motherless F, I say (in my head). So I am forced to use the gas station ATM, which means at least a $4 charge after the convenience fee and my subsequent bank fee. I really hate my bank. I bitch about it all the time. I should totally switch banks, but it just seems like too much of a hassle. I digress, and far too often. What I was getting at, is that I just lost all the financial savings of going ghetto with my cigarette/beer purchase.
I continue on my way home, and as I’m heading up the Skyway I’m graced with the sudden cognizance that yes, three out of five work days a week, I am stuck behind a large, lumbering semi on the Skyway. A lovely added feature of this week has been the subtle grinding of my rotors, as I’m fairly certain my brakes need to be replaced. Which makes me think this afternoon, in my already gloomy state, “I could have used that $4 I wasted at the ATM for my brake repair fund (which I’ve yet to establish).”
None of that crap really matters. I was using above petty grievances in a lame attempt to find some humor in the fact I gave one of my dogs up last weekend. What the fuck was I thinking?? Yes, Max was a barker, and yes, Baillie often snarled at and terrorized him, which made me feel bad for Max, while he was just as much an antagonist. Sure, I hadn’t slept in my bed in my bedroom more than five times since early springtime due to Max’s incessant barking in the night and disturbing my downstairs neighbor and friend. And of course Max's life is better now… he’s with a family with kids, in a house, goes on five walks a day, has someone home all day with him so isn’t alone 11 hours at a stretch, eats gourmet canned dog food, has his choice of three beds at night in which to curl up (while I’d been insisting he sleep in his dog bed recently, instead of with me, or me and Keith the nights he's here). Now Max has got a new collar with his new phone number listed. Hell, I still had him wearing the tag with my old number at my second last place in Hamburg, where I haven’t lived since April 2005.
I’m in some eerie stage where I’m trying to adapt, and it’s not happening yet. Hate this. Good thing I'm able to sleep in my bed again, because the only thing I want to do is sleep. I'm thinking now might be a good time to quit smoking and drinking once and for all, because I really couldn't be more depressed. I think I heard on Jane Velez Mitchell that this month is National Recovery Month or something. What else do I have to lose but some raging addictions?
Of course I don't mean that. I'd never quit smoking and drinking. And of course, prior statement was another weak attempt at dark humor. But seriously, I'm not so ill-affected to think I don't have anything left to lose. I'm just wallowing in grief at present. I'll figure it out. If I didn't think Max would be better off, I would never have made such a move. He loves everyone, anyhow. So different from Baillie. It was at the point where I guess they needed to be separated, and the one who could survive without me was Max. End of story.
So why does all this sound so much like I'm trying to rationalize my decision to myself?
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