Not Just A Pet

Sometimes people have a 'dog' and it is only that - a dog. For some, pets don't become a member of the family. They are an object, an inconvenience, something to be moved around and traded in for another model when they become too old, big, or grumpy. Could you imagine if we did that? I wonder how many of us would trade in our kids if they did something wrong. Seems drastic, right? But owners get rid of their pets for ridiculous reasons, like moving to an apartment that doesn't allow pets, or their new boyfriend doesn't like cats. 

This won't happen with my boys. My boys are a part of my family. A part of heart. A piece of my soul. I would, quite literally, throw myself in front of a bus for them. While it seems entirely stupid thinking back on it, I actually once put my hand in the mouth of a dog who was biting Dixon's neck, just so I could get him off. I call them my boys, because referring to them as 'pets' belittles the relationship I have with them. 

Here's a story for you. 

The other night I received a text from my ex, we're friends and share Oliver so it wasn't unusual. He mentioned in his message that it was his dad's birthday. This caused my eyes to well with tears instantly. You see, I love my ex's father. I always will. And the night we lost him will forever be one of the most gutting moments of my life. So, here I am, crying, because I was sad and that's expected and the correct human emotion to have, and over comes Dixon. He crawls up onto the chair with me and starts licking my face, but then he does something he's never done before. He starts rubbing his head against mine, like he's nuzzling, and he keeps doing it, over and over, until I stop crying and am laughing. Then, he settles in beside me. 

There will always be those skeptics who doubt the relationships animals can have with people. Naysayers be damned. I feel sorry for those who have never had a dog as a best friend, who have never felt how rewarding it is to love and be loved unconditionally in return, to never have felt the healing power of animals.  

Sure, I might just be anthropomorphizing (giving human qualities to animals), but every time I come home Oliver is happy to see me. When I go to bed, he comes with me. And when he is sick, he wants me to hold him. When they are scared, they seek me out for comfort. I give, they take, but what they return to me is love. It's unconditional, no strings attached, heartwarming love. 

Which is why I am putting my boys on me for the rest of my life. Because they aren't just pets. And thanks to the Sidekick, Oliver was finished today. Just between us, I can't be happier. Now for Dixon on my other thigh!

I'm Tired

Today, I am tired. I woke up tired. Not sleepy. Just tired.

Tired of feeling cautious. Uncertain of my surroundings. Not sure of what to say or do. Or why I want to say and do what I want to say and do. It's complex, I suppose. Or maybe not. Maybe we all know exactly what I mean when I say I am tired of feeling cautious.

The tiredness goes beyond the uneasy feeling. I am tired of feeling heavy. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Exhausted over money. Not having any. Like none. Being poor. Unable to buy groceries. Or a dress. A badly needed pair of shoes for work. Travelling is out, because gas is so expensive. Ferry rides are out. So my friends, those real life unvirtual ones, seem so far away. I did this to myself. No need to remind me. The bills are piling up. I'm getting frustrated with myself. And the worry, well, I'm so tired of worrying over money. Of having it be the soul thing I'm fretting over and having the lack of it mess up the good things, and taint the happiness I was feeling.

I'm tired of wanting a hug. And not wanting to ask for one at the same time.

More so, I'm tired of feeling fat, even though I know society's idea of what women should weigh is far under what is healthy. And though I know that. I still stress about my weight. Cellulite. Stretch marks. The jiggle in this wiggle. Even things I once loved aren't looking the same. Not while I'm wearing these tired glasses of mine. They make everything look so much more unattractive than it is.

Ugly. Tired of it as well. It's a beast. And it takes over.

The lack of undisturbed slumber is making me tired. In the true sense, though, not in the metaphorical or symbolic way. In the I-am-actually-tired sort of way.

I'm tired of having these random days where nothing seems to go right. Waking up angry, burning the toast, messing up breakfast, banging my head on a cupboard, staining my clothes, tearing my nylons, not being comfortable in my own skin, seeing the flaws and wondering where the fabulous is, biting my lips and making it bleed and wanting someone to say yes to something but they just keep saying no.

It's draining to feel as though life is simply slipping through my fingers as I worry and fret and lose sleep. It's scary to think I'm getting older and the bullshit keeping me awake is the same. It's crazy that one day I simply won't exist anymore and none of this will matter. It's strange that it really doesn't even matter now.

It's funny because it's all in my head.