Tabby woke me up when she at 7:15 to go walking. I am never asleep after 7am, no matter how much overindulging I did the night before. In this case, I hadn’t indulged at all. Blue’s stomach is feeling squirrelly again.
You leave nothing to chance when a Dane get the trots. Zeb informed me that Blue went twice in a couple hours, definitely a Code Brown situation. I was out of bed like a shot the first time I heard Blue pace around my bed. I decided to take the night shift and set myself up for an all-night 30 Rock marathon in the living room. I dozed between episodes and emergency potty breaks with the red glow of the Netflix logo as a nightlight.
I tried to put a positive spin on it for Tabby, “This is great. I can find the humor in this. It’s good for the blog.”
Now that I’m writing about it, with the dog cutting the worst farts ever next to me, I think may have overestimated the power of positive thinking.
… and the transformative power of conversations. Yesterday I had a conversation with my nemesis, who shall remain unnamed. I can’t divest myself of this particular relationship so I’ve set boundaries to keep myself from going crazy. Yesterday she wore me down like Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown. “Come on, let’s talk.”
Usually it takes a few weeks to a few months for her to use my vulnerability against me. This time the turnaround time was less than 24 hours, a new world record!
Zeb overheard me on the phone and kept a respectful distance. The reason I keep this person at an arm’s length is the toll it takes on my family as I process our interactions. I’m usually a wreck. I gave him the recap this morning and reassured him not to worry, I don’t expect anything to change, no matter how productive the conversation may have seemed. And I was right, although I wish that just this once I could be wrong.
Suffering often isn’t caused by a circumstance, but by the struggle against it. I’m letting go of the reigns, this relationship is always going to disappoint me. Forever.
I am in dire need of a full-night’s sleep. Zeb can take care of old Daisy Cutter tonight.
I’m going to cut the crap and go to bed.
I never thought the boys would grow out of their tiny underpants. 21 little briefs are going out the door. DONATE.
A stained sweatshirt and Grammici pants that are too small. DONATE.
Three t-shirts. DONATE.