Toys

 Poppy, you are not a Dog Toy. Nor are you a Dog. You may, nevertheless, play with the toys, since you hopped in there yourself to rummage. Enjoy! 

Long Lost

 Lord Huron has put out a new album: Long Lost. Hurray for new music! 

I like Lord Huron's music very much. I am having a little bit of trouble, though, enjoying this new album as much as the previous ones. 

One of the ongoing themes of the previous albums has been a Lost Love - love that is eternal, for a person who is lost. In contrast, though, one of the themes of Long Lost is Love That Is Lost -- the person is there, but the love no longer is. That's quite a flip.

One of the tracks on the new album - I Lied - is a particularly harmonious song, but it is hard to listen to, because it contains what I consider to be an inaccuracy. The plot of the song is as follows (spoiler alert): a man confesses that he promised to love a woman until death and beyond, but he "lied" and is leaving her. In return, the woman professes her relief at his confession, because she too "lied" about forever loving him. However, a "lie" is a deliberate, conscious untruth -- and yet in so very many of Lord Huron's previous songs, eternal love is always professed, strong, deliberate and constant.  None of it sounded like a "lie" before. So why is this a lie here? Isn't it just a change of circumstances? 

So instead of that song, I'll listen to What do it mean? instead. It sits better.

• All of the joy I've known,
• the ways I've grown,
• the loves I've shown my heart to
• I'm gonna get it together and live forever.

Things I Should Not Do

 Herself speaks.

I am doing something I should not do. And I know I should not do it.

-----

I was told once, that I have a choice:

I can be mad.

Or, I can be mad with a plan.

In other words -- when I am experiencing a particular emotion (such as anger), I can either sit in that emotion, or I can formulate a course of action to change either my feeling or the circumstances generating it. We all know which is the recommended course of action: be mad with a plan. Do something. Don't just stew. 

And so, as I fester in my feeling, I know that I am not doing the right thing: I am not working to help myself or change matters. There is no plan. There is only feeling.

-----

Perhaps the time is not yet ripe. The more I think about this particular feeling, I suspect that I have mislabeled it: it may not be a single emotion, but a complex medley of several different emotions. And because the ongoing Pandemic has necessitated squashing down certain emotions in order to Get Through Things, all of the feelings are in turn all squashed together and difficult to differentiate. What are we looking at: Anger? Grief? Loneliness? Love? Fear? Disappointment? And am I focusing, laser-beam-like, on this particular feeling (or amalgam thereof) because it allows me to avoid thinking about other feelings? 

I don't know. And I may not be ready to parse everything. Perhaps it all needs more time. 

I am tired. 

One day at a time. 

Measure of Success

Masking

 Herself speaks.

At the office where I work, virtually everyone (with one exception - an individual who appears to have anti-vaccine leanings, as far as I know, and yes, I am feeling unfairly judgmental based on knowing that the individual voted for The Orange Turnip) is fully vaccinated against COVID-19. That's great! And it means that the mask mandate we had in the office has been lifted for all except the one unvaccinated person. That's... great? 

I'm not particularly happy with the situation. There are COVID variants, un-fully-vaccinated household members and people whom others visit, breakthrough infection that could be passed around, and other factors that make wearing a mask still a good idea. We read the CDC guidelines, and yes, they've lifted a lot of the restrictions. Does that make things safe? or just relatively safe? For us, yes. For others, who knows?

I spoke with another coworker at the time the intraoffice mask mandate was lifted, and we concurred that we would still be wearing masks. And so we did, for a few weeks. Though yesterday, as I was passing by a conference room (with my mask on my face), I saw that particular coworker having a meeting well within six feet (in fact, within an arm's-reach) of an unknown individual. And the coworker was not masked. 

I was weirdly bothered. 

I suppose it was safe for the coworker, who is fully vaccinated. Yet I couldn't help but think about those who are in very close contact with that coworker -- the coworker's spouse and household members, for example. What risk was there to them? Small, but not irrelevant, risk, given breakthrough infections. How trustworthy was the unknown individual? Well, nobody really knows. 

Am I legitimately concerned about germs? Or rather, is it more of a discomfort with physical proximity? In this Pandemic Age, that seems at first glance to be a fair concern. Or is it just a projection of my specific inner feelings of discomfort regarding physical proximity with other people in general? 

And where did this very unwelcome inner sense of, people are uncomfortable with/repelled by being in physical proximity to me, come from? Is it ridiculous? Or am I picking up some kind of low-level but clearly perceptible disgust from other people? It's not pandemic-related, because it has existed in low-grade form prior to The Plague. What is this? 

I don't know. I am not sure I want to dive into this feeling. Perhaps if I ignore it long enough, it'll go away. 

Maybe a hug or two would help. 

At any rate, I will still have my mask on in the immediate future. Because.

(Sign found here: https://www.cnn.com/2020/04/04/us/social-distancing-florida-alligator-trnd/index.html)

Bun Cam

Seven

Yesterday marked the seventh anniversary of The Unmooring. Much of the day was spent in visiting with various vaccinated relatives. It was nice and normal on the one hand, and exhausting on the other hand. (I've gotten used to social isolation and need to better pace myself with reentry.) I did not have sufficient time over the weekend to process how far I have traveled since the Unmooring. I am not sure that I have completely adjusted to my new normal in some ways. Perhaps I never will. Perhaps, after all this time, I'm just doing my best. That's all I can ask of myself.

I want to find some moments to process some feelings that have bubbled up, but I'm having difficulty doing so with all the errands and routine car maintenance visits and the catching-up with people and work and pets and Help My Brain Is Tired. I need some solace, a good meal, a nap, and a lengthy hug. 

I'll get there, with time.  

LICK

My Small Fry

Buddy

He's home. 

Hello Ladies

The gentleman bunny likes to hang out near the lady bunnies for a bit when he is having his Free Roam Time. 

Soon, he will go to the vet's for neutering, and then in due course we can remove the Chastity Barrier. I think he will enjoy the ladies' company -- and hopefully, they will help him with his ear-fur grooming, for he is a bit tangled without help.

They sure are cute. 

Bucket List: Lizards

OH MY GOSH, SPRINGTIME LIZARDS TO TRY TO CATCH.

She was quite winded, but ever fierce in her pursuit. 

Carry 'Round the Block

Bucket List activity: strolling around the block. She surveys her domain from on high. 

None

 The CDC just recently issued new guidelines about activities that are possible once a person is fully vaccinated. In short, they have said: "Fully vaccinated people can resume activities without wearing a mask or physically distancing, except where required by federal, state, local, tribal, or territorial laws, rules, and regulations, including local business and workplace guidance."

So now, when I see an unmasked person out in the wild, I don't know whether they're fully vaccinated, or whether they are an anti-mask/anti-vaccine person. I do know, though, that when I see an unmasked person in a store which still requires masks, looking at you, lady in Home Depot (where I made an extremely rare excursion ever-so-briefly yesterday to find some bunny-proofing materials), that I... will be judgmental on the inside.

This is why I still won't go much of anywhere except in case of necessity.

I trust no one.

Bucket List Activities

A little stroll.

A little ice cream.

And a lot of rest. 

The Last Bit of Feisty

"She's not doing very well," said the vet as kindly as he could. 

Tiny Dog's heart failure is end-stage. Breathing is a little difficult. She has all the meds we could possibly give her.  It's likely to be mere weeks until we send her over the Rainbow Bridge, too.

It's like the end of an era - she outlived all the other family dogs. I would like to think that Daisy, Thor, Tio, and Chico Hank will all greet her warmly, and will let her be in charge, because that's what she loves the most. 

I'm trying to think of some Bucket List items for Tiny. Right now, they consist primarily of thing like reclining on the couch, eating all the tasty tidbits, going for a walk (well, a carry) around the neighborhood. The usual thigs, in short. Because sometimes life is all about the tiny pleasures, especially if one is a Tiny Dog.

Godspeed, My Fine Fur Friend

The Rainbow Bridge has gained a fine small dog. New Old Dog crossed over this morning, when a series of seizures throughout the night made it clear that he was ready to Go. 

This note is for him: 

When we adopted you from the rescue two years ago, you were named "Chico". However, Offspring the Third said you looked like a "Hank". Since you were already 12 years old, I didn't want to confuse you with a whole new name, and so you became Chico Hank. It took us a few weeks to figure out you were nearly deaf and it didn't matter what we called you. I mostly called you "my buddy."

You were a good and faithful dog, with a cheerful trot and an enjoyment of fuzzy blankets, and your favorite pasttime was sitting on the couch together. You loved me unquestioningly right from the start, and I will always be grateful for your devotion.

Godspeed, Chico Hank, and thank you for your time with us.

Diptych

The Struggle is Real

Herself speaks.

I've really been struggling with migraine lately. It is a drag on my whole system, my quality of life, my ability to think and be productive. Migraine always comes with its companion Dementors of what ifs and wanting unattainable things and the grief beast, so things have been hard, to say the least. I have an appointment soon with my primary care physician, and perhaps she will be able to help. I'm not optimistic, because migraine also comes with a side order of feeling hopeless. We'll see.

Meanwhile, Tiny Dog is retaining more fluid from the heart failure, despite the diuretics. We've increased them with advice from the vet, but there isn't much improvement. Breathing is harder. Nighttime is the worst. She struggles. 

I know it's nearly her Time. 

The idea of her absence, after 10 years of her presence, is terrible. 

I just want to fold up into myself. 

One day at a time. One hour at a time. 

Onward we go. 

Monster

 This evening's earworm: Monster (Mumford & Sons). 

I'm not entirely sure I understand what the lyrics are all about, but I was struck by this one line:

Yours is the face, that makes my body burn....

That's poetry.

Couch Potatoes

The Pathetic Duo

Bump

New Old Dog had a seizure this afternoon.

The seizure itself was about two minutes. Fortunately I was there to lay him down and make sure he was in a safe area. (I've lately been watching occasional episodes of a standard medical drama show, and I distinctly remember thinking well that's a bit much every time a human patient allegedly went into a seizure. After this afternoon, though, I stand corrected. New Old Dog's seizure was pretty violent.)

After the seizure stopped, though, came the harder part. He was extremely agitated and confused, and his vision was affected. He ran around, bumping into things and whining, nonstop, for an hour and a half. He didn't seem to recognize or notice my presence much of the time. I took him to the back yard to minimize the number of hazards, and he trotted, nearly running, around the edges of the yard, over and over again, as if looking for a way to escape. I tried holding him, but he just screamed and flailed, so I let him pace instead. I had to occasionally unstick him from bushes or the patio furniture. He wanted to just keep going. Bump, run, bump. 

Eventually, he calmed down, and had some water, and then seemed to understand that I was trying to help him. He sat in my lap for a bit, and is now sleeping next to me. 

It was... a lot. 

I'll give him one of Tiny Dog's anti-seizure pills this evening, to try to ward off a recurrence until we can get him into the vet's office.

Bless his heart. My poor little old man. 

Good boy.