One of the recent changes in my life is that my husband has taken a different job, and is no longer WFH with me. He is loving it so far, and if we're being honest, so am I.
At least, the part where I am not sharing my workspace with my spouse. He was good company, but due to the different types of work we each do, it was a challenge. And to be fair, I still think working from home is not really for me.
But now that he's gone, I have another added perk. Piper.
There is a chair in my office (fka my beautiful dining room) that has been there for some time. It was my grandmother's, back in the day - I picked it up after she died, and we were cleaning out her home. I managed to get several nice pieces of furniture - this one in particular has good bones. It's also a good color - a very subdued print in sage, cream and black. It's a great chair. It's not the most comfortable chair, but it's not bad, either. I love that chair.
When the dining room was still a dining room (RIP), the chair held a large, shiny, engraved stainless steel bucket that was meant for holding drinks on ice at a party. My sister gave it to us when we got engaged. We used it as storage for our liquor. Now that we have moved the liquor, I decided to take all the other stuff that had piled up in the chair and leave it clear, so that if the dog wanted to come join me throughout the day, she'd have a comfortable place to sit.
It took some coaxing and a few milkbones the first time she came in to hang out with me. Now she comes in and sleeps for hours at a time. I love it, and I find it comforting. I know she loves me, but it's nice that she wants to hang out with me, now that sleeping next to my husband while he works is no longer on the table. Or sofa, if you will.
My mother had pugs - Maggie and The Dude - they were velcro dogs - always next to her, or before he died, Dad. Always. I am glad that they expired before she did because I don't know how that would have played out. Badly, I think.
I had Lola before Piper, and she was my ride-or-die in my 20s and 30s. She loved to ride, especially. She loved tennis balls, and car rides, and the occasional Happy Meal from McDonalds. She also loved my husband, but he came along well after Lola and I had bonded. So he was definitely special, but I wasn't chopped liver, for sure.
I really like having a dog. I once said that I felt bad for people who don't have dogs because when they drop food on the floor, it stays there until they pick it up. Me? I have my very own Roomba with benefits. Granted, she sheds more onto the floor than she removes from it - but even her tumbleweaves amuse me.
There is a woman here in Nashville, Adrian Budnick, who makes promotional videos about the dogs at Metro Animal Control and she is brilliant. She knows how to market a weird quirk and make it desirable.
If I were to meet her in real life, I'd like to think we would be friends. I can't prove that, though.
As I was telling someone the other day, I am involved in a number of parasocial delusions with people of varying levels of famous.
I don't know. I am feeling really blue and sensitive about the fact that Piper is getting older, and I won't have her around forever. It makes me feel really sad. It's possible and probable that I'm projecting on a lot of levels.
Honestly, I'm all over the place emotionally. I wonder what's hormones, what's seratonin, what's diet/exercise related, and what is just seasonal?
By that last one, I will note that yesterday was the anniversary of Dad's death. Eleven years. Eleven isn't exactly a benchmark number - it's not a "ends in five or zero" level anniversary. In years past, I've been incredibly sad and aware of the date weeks in advance. This year, it snuck up on me a little - understandably. Because, let's be real - I've been busy. Like, superbusy.
Mostly in my brain, I think - because if you look around, my house is still in chaos, my windows need washing. My hair needs washing. I need to think about packing for a quick trip coming up, and I need to eat lunch, but I can't think of what to eat. Other than cake, which - no.
My husband suggested we go on a walk this evening, and I know he means well, but there is nothing I want less than that. If it's not sitting on the couch and petting the dog while I mindlessly dissociate, I'm not sure I want it. I hate exercise, and if it's not my idea, I don't want to do it. And guess what - I rarely want to do it. Even if I love a dance class, the idea of NOT doing that class is so appealing that I can't help but want that.
You might intuit that I'm depressed, and I'd say that's accurate. I will work through it, and then out of it. But knowing is half the battle, and knowing it's not permanent is important.
Meanwhile, I'll spend time with my therapy dog, and take some walks, and try to eat right.
Even if I hate it.
Especially if I hate it. Hate burns more calories...right?
ae
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