I threw my back into some kind of ill-mannered, all-encompassing, driven-by-the-hounds-of-hell spasm the other day. So here I am, sitting on my couch for the 5 minutes allotted to me before I’ll have to lie down again, staring out the window at this glorious spring day. There is a comically stinky dog licking himself at my feet, a bearded dragon eyeing me, threatening to rise from his long winter’s nap, and a rubik’s cube sitting next to me, begging to be solved for the seventieth time this weekend.
The dog is my parents’, a 14-year-old basset hound, sojourning here while they are away. He is blind. He is deaf. He is stinky. So far he has bitten me, puked on my carpet, muddied my entire floor, and filled my home with a cloud of hair and dander. The allergic members of my household are not thrilled that I agreed to watch him. If you’re reading this, my mom probably is to. She should be calling any minute to make sure we haven’t ‘lost’ Henry. Don’t worry, Mom. He’s still here, whining incessantly. If he bites me again, though, I make no guarantees of his safety.
The dragon has been flirting with waking up for weeks now, but his attempts at activity have thus far been short-lived. I do believe our calm, Larry-free days are numbered however, soon to be replaced with rounds of chase-the-lizard-around-the-yard duty, and entertaining games of where’s-the-lizard. He’d probably already be tearing up the house and throwing himself at the doors towards grassy freedom if it weren’t for the dog—his arch-nemesis—sleeping outside the safety of his tank.
The cube is the only activity I’ve been able to tolerate all weekend. Reading, writing, pretty much everything else—they’ve all been impossible tasks. But I have, thankfully, been able to lose myself in 2-3 minutes of cube-solving bliss here and there. It’s the little things. I got a new best time yesterday: 2:01. Hoo-rah.
The roosters are crowing, the birds are partying like it’s 1999, and I am going to lie back down.
Whine complete (thanks for indulging me),