I lost my dog for four hours on Saturday, and it was the greatest hysteria I have ever known. It was a bad judgment call on my part. I left him in the yard, which wasn’t totally secure. He had spent lots of time there through the week, and had been just fine. Saturday he decided to fly the coop. It was sheer hell. I had to recruit my ex, which was the last thing I wanted to do, and panic ensued as we all went hunting for him. My friends were even awesome enough to borrow a friend’s car and do a High Park stake out, using their own pup as a make-shift bloodhound. Finally, someone in the neighbourhood called to say they got my phone number from animal services, and that her daughter had found Arthur wandering on my street. We scooped him up, and he was completely unscathed. In fact, I thought he looked a little smug. It was a tearful reunion for both parents, but I have never been so scared in all my life.
It started to make me wonder…
I am one of the most nurturing, care-taking people I know. This is not horn-tooting, it’s just simple fact. I’m built for love, and when I have someone or something to love, then I’m really in my element. The love I feel for my dog (which is more than I can get my head around sometimes) is a mere fraction of the love I would feel for a child. Now, I know I would one day like to have a baby, but I realized on Saturday that once you have a kid you must never really sleep properly again. How could you relax? How do parents stop themselves from spiraling into complete and utter hysteria? How do they not project that fear onto their children? I’m nearly hysterical just thinking about it. Do I have the chops to really take all that on if I can’t even manage to keep a dog in the yard???
Between the trauma of loosing my dog, my weekend was book-ended by a rapturous fever, which resulted in about 17 hours of sleep each night on Friday and Saturday. Sunday, my eyes are glittering like a consumptive, my lips are swollen and raw, and I feel almost completely numb. It’s like the weekend served me a great big slap to slow me down and have me take stock.
What am I taking stock of, exactly? My foothold in reality has felt a bit slippery, that’s for sure. It’s been impossible to focus on anything, and I think it’s the panic I’m feeling over not having a home. Still. If my renos aren’t finished soon, I’m going to totally loose it. All I want is my own bed, and a clean apartment, with a well stocked fridge. I don’t feel like that’s too much to ask for.
Fortunately, this week I’m house/dog sitting for my cousin and his partner at their amazing, clean, un-cluttered condo. It’s like a boutique hotel compared to what I’m used to. I’ll be purging a hell of a lot more once I’m back in my own place, because I know how sweet it is to live without crap everywhere. It’s very Parisian.
God, Paris feels like a far away dream these days.
This entry could only be more whiny if I included a high pitched squealing audio track.
I promise not to write again unless it’s more interesting, and less self-pitying.
Perhaps a little more sexy wouldn’t hurt either.
