It's a hard thing to start talking about your self. I don't know why I waited until now to be an open book. I guess ego is to blame.
One day Gracie is going to die. Whether it is at the end of an illness or if she makes it to a ripe old age for her breed, she will expire. And that really sucks.
I've had a few dogs in my life. Actually we probably buck the average in my family considering my aunt had associations with dog breeders. Dogs have always been a part of my life. Dogs have always been members of the family. And it has always been hard to say goodbye.
Dogs are great empathy machines. You get the sense that they know exactly what kind of mood you are in. They reflect back at you what you project on them; love, affection, anxiety (I'm told).
I love Gracie. I have taken way too many pictures of her. I've thrown novelty flying discs of various makes and models for hours at a time. I have hugged her, kissed her, bathed her, toweled her, fed her, pet her and picked her up. What I can't stand is the idea of putting her down.
A couple of days ago we were in the front yard throwing the frisbee. It was later in the day, the sun was setting. Magic hour I believe. And Gracie was bounding after the disc. She was cast in a golden light, rushing after her prey, out of the yard and around the corner, her muscles bunching, her body contracting and lengthening. One day she won't come back. One day she won't be there. And I find that heartbreaking.
It's a part of life that is no fun to deal with. And I am in pre-mourning for some reason. I think three things snuck up on me recently and have tied and twisted together to cause me no shortage of grief.
It is like I am finding things in my life, my memories, to hurt me. That I am punishing myself for no good reason.
Excuse me digression here but this is my blog, so... Y'know uck-fe off-eh. I don't speak Latin.
Years ago I was trying to write a podcast play for something to do. A creative venture. Something to flex my mind muscles. I would spend a lot of my time looking inward for dialogue, whether I was working, playing, etc. I wanted jokes, I wanted real feelings, I wanted to make something good. And a lot of what I wanted was to tell a story of disparate people finding a meaningful connection. Now, I didn't achieve that. At all. But I always go back to it. I always think about two characters talking in those little snippets of conversation.
AUTHORS NOTE: I know no one can see this but it is so frustrating trying to type with a giant track pad nearby. I can't tell you how often the screen will just start expanding and contracting because I dared try and move my thumbs.
Something I always wanted to write about was the death of my father. Losing a parent is brutal and he was always tickled by my podcast writing so it seemed like a good fusion. I could eulogize him and deal with my grief in my way. I never did that but I still think about it. AND THAT IS WHY I KEEP THINKING ABOUT HIM. I never resolved my story. I have been thinking of bits and pieces for a script I never wrote for, what, 7 years now?
I've held onto my grief - to make a script - MORE AUTHENTIC.
Good lord. What a numb nut.
The rational sober version of me is in charge at the moment. I like this guy.
So obviously I need to resolve some stuff, and be more open about things that bother me.
To quote Keeley from TED LASSO: "Problems are like mushrooms, yeah? The longer you leave them in the dark, the bigger they get."
Comments
Post a Comment