I have yet to do this to Boo as she finds it highly objectionable to be smooshed or pandered to in any way. She's also started bullying Gaku, which sucks since the poor thing is like, a third of Boo's size. It's mildly terrifying that Boo's gained around 15 pounds in two weeks, and that she still looks as though she's mostly ears. Ears, and a terrible attitude.
So most of the dog-owner talk I tell Gaku is smack about her fellow dog. Boo don't care 'bout no shade though, because she's a have-chew-bone-will-ignore-you-primly-fo
Boo's going to have a complete set of shots in two weeks, so I'm going to be bringing her out to parks and stuff because she needs the exercise to help her settle into her rapidly-growing bones and muscles. If I can handle her on the first trip out, then I'll bring Gaku, too. Gaku never really took well to going out, since she is pretty much a tiny wisp of nothing with legs, but it would be sad to leave her?
Read this last night. It's a painful Batfamily fic, set in the pre-New52 timeline, and just the perfect mix of nostalgia and characterization to make me dissolve into a puddle of tears. It's been nearly two years since the reboot happened, but it's only really sunk in recently, I guess.
Anyway, hurrah for catharsis. I got a good cry out of it, and relieved myself of some other, heavier feelings that I've been carting around the past few months. Maybe now I can be less of a shit person, and be sincere and earnest and all that jazz. :) Or I could keep being a disingenuous asshole, until the day I die. Yes. That seems easier. Or something.
I tried to walk the feelings off last Friday, complete with walking through the city in a (mild) storm because if you're going to do something that is a hilarious cliché, you may as well go whole hog on it. Spent hours with my brain shut off, just observing everything as best I could. There really isn't anything better for the words (worst) in my head than a good, long plod to nowhere. When I want to think, I usually do a walk with music, to shut everything in, but it wasn't that kind of day.
I was completely soaked too, because despite wearing wellies (with scotty dogs on them!) I was wearing a pair of shorts and what is possibly the thinnest shirt in my closet. It didn't help that my umbrella was more leak than anything else. I've managed to not contract walking pneumonia, so whatever. Eventually I will be elderly and more prone to catching my death in inclement weather; I'm going to enjoy the fact I am twenty-six and mostly in possession of a healthy immune system.
Alas, I only came out of that afternoon with a taste for Red Rice Ale, which I 'discovered' in this ridic bar I slipped into because I was tired. It was an odd thing, almost at the corner of Benavidez and Salcedo, and it didn't have a sign when I was there. I only noticed it because they had a promoter dude who told me that I looked as though I needed a drink. (He wasn't wrong.) And I went by it, shaking my head because why should I, and then I reminded myself that why not anyway. So I went back, and up to the second floor to have that drink. It was around 1730, so I had the entire bar to myself, and the waitstaff were bemused by my scotty dog boots and bedraggled appearance. They have horrible décor, but I will totally go back for more of that Red Rice Ale. Bar's called Purgatory, and the waitstaff are really cool with being interrogated about their lives and the bar's procedures. Data, anyway.
The rest of the weekend went by relatively smoothly, with me getting a fair amount of work done, with more to today (and possibly forever). Spent Sunday working outside of the house, but inside Starbucks - Leviste. Mum and I had brunch in TWG and did the mother-daughter thing, and then she let me work quietly (irritatedly), and then we had a late lunch in Grace Park, and to Hypermart to grab puppy food and some other dog necessities. It was a very quiet Sunday, and I spent the evening of it angrily solving Sudoku puzzles.
I'm pretty stir-crazy now, and other than cab drivers and baristas, I barely get any conversation. I feel as though my tongue's tied itself into a knot that's settled at the back of my heart because there's this weight there that feels like it ought to be important. If I could, I'd tear my tongue out at the root and fling it as far as I can, and maybe then I'll feel as though I can breathe. I don't even know if I'm good enough to see people right now, because other than the weight, I feel hollow and boring.
I can't say the right things, the right words, so thank goodness for reading books, because the words may not be the right ones, but they're filling the empty spaces I can't reach?
When I have nothing else, I will have those words.
Or I could just live on ridiculous dog-owner talk for the rest of my life. Other people seem to manage it. I could be other people. They seem great.