Getting up before 6 on a weekday is torturous and cruel - on a Sunday, it's called getting the most out of your weekend. (And it totally justifies that 3-hour nap that's gonna come in the early afternoon.)
Finn got pepper-sprayed yesterday and it was completely due to stupid human mistakes. I was sitting on the front porch with a book when Jimi and Finn joined me. Jimi put Finn on his lead, but I saw the mailman coming up the opposite side of the street, and the mailman won't come into our yard when Finn's outside. So I tried to get Finn to come into the house. He wasn't done outside, though, and ran to Jimi (like a kid playing off his two parents, that dog is sometimes). Jimi petted his head and looked at me as if I were being mean and said, "He doesn't want to go inside, Mommy." Fine. "But the mailman is coming, so hold onto his collar and I'll go get the mail." I watched him hook a couple fingers under Finn's collar, sat down my book, and went down the porch steps and started across the yard to meet the mailman. Halfway there, Finn darts past me, growling and barking and making haste for the poor mail carrier. I yelled for my bad dog, and my eyes saw him stop running and crouch down as I heard Jimi yell "Man, don't spray him". I hadn't noticed the mail carrier as he whipped the pepper-spray canister off his bag in a flash and gave Finn a face full, but I figured out what was happening and I at least had my wits about me enough to yell back, "He has to do what he can to protect himself, Jimi." Oh, I was pissed. "I thought you were holding onto him?!" This I was saying as I grabbed the mail from the carrier, apologizing all over myself as he was trying to apologize for spraying my dog, assuring him I understood when he said, "I don't like to do it, but..." "No no, I understand, and I'm SO sorry" (pleasedon'tcallanimalcontrolandtakemydogaway), with my hand hooked around Finn's collar as he shook his head from side to side and pawed at his face, which was covered in red speckles from where the spray had gotten him. We made it up onto the porch, (Jimi saying, "he twisted and nearly broke my finger and I couldn't hold him anymore" and "He didn't have to spray him"), and I fumed as I held onto my twisting pup and hosed him down. Jimi felt bad for hours, and normally I'm one to console and try to not lay blame, but I couldn't bring myself to say "It wasn't your fault" this time. I would never say to him what I'll say to you, which is that it was completely his fault, but I did't make a lot of effort to make him feel better about the situation, either. I sorta feel bad for placing blame at all, but dammit, this one wasn't on me, and could've been easily avoided. And I keep thinking about how the mailman told all his friends last night over beers about the dog that he pepper-sprayed and the lady who was wearing footie pajamas at 2 o'clock in the afternoon on a Saturday.
Jimi told me yesterday he wants a recliner for his 40th birthday. I had sorta just decided on either a treadmill or an elliptical or a new range or a new fridge, but he said if I'm going to spend money on him, he'd really like a nice recliner. Typing that makes me think it sounds like an old man gift. And then I remember, after all, he's turning 40. Age ain't nothin' but a number, sure, but 40 seems like it should still be much farther off. The last five years have FLOWN, yo.
I'm thinking of going downtown to the Occupy Louisville protests today. A friend of mine is baking a turkey today to take to the group, as a show of support; her partner has apparently spent some part of every day with them. I told her I'd call and maybe meet up with them -
This Occupy Movement may have gotten off to a slow and confused beginning, but there's something legitimate and lasting and real there. I have always watched footage of the Civil Rights Movement with awe; the bravery of those few willing to stand up to so many in the name of What's Right. I have always wondered if my generation would ever be passionate enough about anything to stand up and make a difference in a big way. I've often wondered when American Citizens would realize that we are many controlled by a few who let us pretend we have a say. I figured that once the word started getting out, big changes would come. Fingers crossed.
I've got a two-day workweek to look forward to - I can't even be sad that it's Sunday, because Monday's not so bad when Tuesday is your Friday. (I like that sentence a lot.) Stacy and I have appointments starting at 10:45 on Wednesday for 75 minute facials and hour-long massages, then we'll have lunch and some sort of obscene dessert. And then Thursday, of course, is the original Day of Many Dinners (at least two, and somehow men always manage to go back for seconds at each). I won't shop on Friday - I can barely make myself go to the store on a normal weekday, you think I'd stay up all night to fight the crowds? No effing way. Besides, I'm more of a "finish shopping on Christmas Eve and give the gifts unwrapped and in the store bags" sort of girl, anyhow.
I'm reading The Hobbit; I read it at some point during my adolescence, but I was more into Stephen King back then, and so while I liked it, it wasn't really my sort of tale. I really missed out back then because the writing is beautiful and vivid, and I can't help but picture myself reading this story to a child before bedtime - it's exactly the kind of story that should be read to a child. I have the Lord of the Rings trilogy on deck, so my reading needs should be covered through the end of the year.
I can't believe the Holidays are here already. Holy smokes, this year has flown.
If the world really was going to *poof* end on December 21, 2012, and we really only had 13 months left, how would you spend the next year? What would you finally do that you've been putting off forever and ever?
I'm going to travel. I'm going on a grand adventure some time in the next 13 months. I'm going to see fabulous things and take beautiful pictures and have sex in crazy adventurous places.
Nothing like having goals.