Are you in the market for 60 pounds of high-strung musky mammal??
I spent last night house- and cat-sitting for my parents, and got to enjoy feeling like a tween whose mommy and daddy have gone out of town and left her with the run of the place. Which, you know, is pretty much how it is. But with less partying, my own separate address 15 minutes away, and that aforementioned address also has a better-stocked liquor cabinet to begin with.
Still, it was fun to soak in their great big tub, watch the gloriously terrible stream of brain-rot that is television for a change (they have TV!!), drink my father's beloved Jack Daniels, eat pepperoni for dinner (I have been having weird meat cravings lately and never keep it in the house... what do you make of that, Sigmund??) and sleep gleefully in their gigantic bed. Ok, that last bit was slightly weird. But I'm not complaining.
Despite the sound night's sleep with a belly full of sausage (heh), I am very sad today. See, the J-Man (my college boyfriend), who took my (technically, it was our) stinkily exuberant dog four months ago and has been living with him ever since, can no longer keep said barnyard dog. He is filing for bankruptcy, apparently, and has to move in with family, and my pup is not welcome there.
There's no way I can take him again, sadly. I am more than a little pissed that I took care of that smelly nutball dog all by myself for four years after we broke up, and he can't even manage four months. But I am never home, I have become incredibly irresponsible, my entire life is up in the air, I'm working like thousand-hour days, am in the midst of moving to I-don't-even-know-where, and in short... would make a very unfit owner.
But honestly, it's more that... I really don't WANT to. Does that make me a terrible person?? My life is vastly improved without pets, as callous as that sounds. Sigh.
So I'm spending my afternoon searching desperately for no-kill shelters, which is harder than it sounds in a state where the majority of residents rail loudly and stupidly about right-to-life-for-every-goddamned-cluster-of-cells bullshit on a constant basis, and yet don't give a flying fuck about animals.
I find it more than a little unfair that this toll of guilt is now on my head. Our doggie has become his sole responsibility, and the J-Man can no longer keep him, so he should be the one who has to be wracked with bitter regret about it. Not me. But, sadly, I am not heartless.
DAMN IT. WHY CAN'T I BE HEARTLESS WHEN I NEED TO BE?? Lately it seems like the only time I'm capable of being cold and detached is pretty much whenever it's completely counterproductive to have a heart that's two sizes too small.
I am a crappy, selfish human being.
Still, it was fun to soak in their great big tub, watch the gloriously terrible stream of brain-rot that is television for a change (they have TV!!), drink my father's beloved Jack Daniels, eat pepperoni for dinner (I have been having weird meat cravings lately and never keep it in the house... what do you make of that, Sigmund??) and sleep gleefully in their gigantic bed. Ok, that last bit was slightly weird. But I'm not complaining.
Despite the sound night's sleep with a belly full of sausage (heh), I am very sad today. See, the J-Man (my college boyfriend), who took my (technically, it was our) stinkily exuberant dog four months ago and has been living with him ever since, can no longer keep said barnyard dog. He is filing for bankruptcy, apparently, and has to move in with family, and my pup is not welcome there.
There's no way I can take him again, sadly. I am more than a little pissed that I took care of that smelly nutball dog all by myself for four years after we broke up, and he can't even manage four months. But I am never home, I have become incredibly irresponsible, my entire life is up in the air, I'm working like thousand-hour days, am in the midst of moving to I-don't-even-know-where, and in short... would make a very unfit owner.
But honestly, it's more that... I really don't WANT to. Does that make me a terrible person?? My life is vastly improved without pets, as callous as that sounds. Sigh.
So I'm spending my afternoon searching desperately for no-kill shelters, which is harder than it sounds in a state where the majority of residents rail loudly and stupidly about right-to-life-for-every-goddamned-cluster-of-cells bullshit on a constant basis, and yet don't give a flying fuck about animals.
I find it more than a little unfair that this toll of guilt is now on my head. Our doggie has become his sole responsibility, and the J-Man can no longer keep him, so he should be the one who has to be wracked with bitter regret about it. Not me. But, sadly, I am not heartless.
DAMN IT. WHY CAN'T I BE HEARTLESS WHEN I NEED TO BE?? Lately it seems like the only time I'm capable of being cold and detached is pretty much whenever it's completely counterproductive to have a heart that's two sizes too small.
I am a crappy, selfish human being.