The Write Thing


“Sometimes the right thing, that’s hard to do”

I’m walking around my apartment singing listening to Danny Michel’s album White and Gold and cussing at myself for not updating my little vanity blog. Then I had to laugh, because I starting reinterpreting The Right Thing as the write thing, and yeah, man. It’s hard to do.

I have two post drafts sitting around from a few months ago. Geewhillikers Kate, just vomit up some words and hit publish. As a side note, I’m trying to find an exclamation that really suits me. I don’t like Geez or other ones derived from Jesus. They don’t offend me personally but I know they likely make Christians wince, and I would rather be more “do not harm” with my interjections.

When I was working I would daydream about all the writing I would do if I could only have time off. And reading! And fitness, by golly (by golly, maybe?) I would be the fittest of the fit! But here I am with time off achieving so close to nothing on a daily basis and only just managing to not gain weight.

I think part of it is when you’re working you just don’t have time to sit around staring at the pointlessness of everything.

Holy Mackerel (ugh, no) – that makes me sound so down! I think it’s really just the sound of anyone middle-aged if they stop spinning for a minute. There’s not much chance of that for the sandwich generation. Huh, I just realised I’m an open-faced sandwich now! Delicious. Less carbs.

One of the posts I haven’t finished is about that almost a month of not drinking. I wanted to write what I thought about it but I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Still and all and nonetheless, I have nothing to finish that sentence with.

The other is a post about my not really resolutions from New Years but first I have to teach myself how to turn my first ever power point (not a historical thing, it’s from this year) into a YouTube video. But up there ^^ I figured out inserting a link, so that’s something.

Oh, and I want to do a DIY video on how I fix/broke my alarm clock! Really, I could generate blog ideas like a machine, like some ideas generation app where you just click and it spits out new ideas. I just need to somehow install a “seeing the idea through” app into my (barely) operating system.

I know there’s a balance point between being harsh with myself, and being self-indulgent; between being self-critical and having self-compassion. Later in the song, Danny sings “let’s forgive and forget.” Dealio, I’ll try it with myself.

I gotta go flip the record.

Familiar ennui

Ennui? Angst? Weightiness? I don’t have the word for this.

My dog has butt problems. Little dogs tend to; it’s just that his aren’t resolving. He’s a senior rescue – maybe around 12 years old – and his medical past is unknown.

It’s been eight vet visits now, three types of steroid and around $1000. I’m putting him back on the food he was on mid-summer. Yes, I know about canned pumpkin. Yes, he gets regular exercise and always has fresh water. Apart from the discomfort of basically walking around with two large pebbles up his butt, exhaustion from fighting infection, and personality changes from steroids, he seems to be OK.

It might be cancer. Or his anal glands might have simply given up due to age. The fact is they aren’t working right and without steroids, his butt gets infected and swollen and risks exploding, doing him terrible and possibly fatal harm.

On steroids he’s aggressive and not his bright, cuddly self most of the time.

So I’m googling and weighing options and attending appointments and basically suffering the weight of sole responsibility for another being’s life. It’s taking whatever wind I had managed to manufacture out of my sails.

I’m inescapably noting similarities to my last few years of being my mother’s decision maker. Not knowing what I’m dealing with, being unable to ascertain how serious the situation is. Weighing costs and benefits. Contingency planning.

The main difference isn’t really that this is a dog and my mother was human. It’s more that I chose to adopt a dog whereas the responsibility of my mother was put on me.  The similarity is the despondent weariness in my core. That and the endlessly echoing sense of being alone. I have many good friends and a bit of family I can talk to and request support from. But like with my mother, it comes down to me, my choices and actions and beliefs and values and personal needs.

I know the calendar is simply a human construct to try to manage our concept of time, but I think I believed 2019 would contain only good news and successes. Maybe I should have crossed my fingers or wished on a star. Well, there’s plenty of stars – better late than never.