Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.
It’s been a while. More than makes me happy. Instead of dwelling, I should just get to the important stuff. Of course, this is me, so, there is likely a bit of a morass ahead. You might want to duck and cover, or just close your browser window. I won’t take offence.
The main thing: Shiva is well. Mostly. She has a bit of a warty, bulbousy, strange sort of growth thing on the corner of her mouth. I officially noticed it last night, which means I pointed it out to my PH, but if I am honest with myself I first saw something weird a week or so ago while we were camping. Not wanting to worry and not observing any discomfort on the muttski’s part, I didn’t investigate. From a distance it looks like an incisor poking out. Up close it looks much softer and furrier. The PH did some internetting and seemed to think it is some sort of virus that sounded, to me, like the canine equivalent of HPV. This strikes me as funny for some reason. As far as I know, the Sheevs hasn’t been engaging in any unprotected sex. I refuse to angst over it until we get her to a vet.
So, yes, Shiva is as Shiva as ever. Still barking at the neighbours, still chasing magpies, still stealing the covers at night. Why we ever gave in to the pressure of letting her sleep on the bed I’ll never know. And yet, I’d miss her if she wasn’t there. Life with dog, eh?
How am I? This answer is less simple. I know. More navel-gazing. Vomit.
I am reading a lot. I haven’t sped through so many books in so few months high school. It has been fantastic. I even got around to the Harry Potter series, of all things. Naturally, this concerns me. I worry my apparent addiction may have more to do with a drive to escape mundanity than appreciation for literature. If I was reading Proust I could justify it. Tesla biographies and novels featuring characters named Penumbra do not exonerate me. It feels self-indulgent. If I enjoy something, it must be tainted. Like a lagniappe from the Body Shop or Starbucks. If it’s free, only the desperate accept.
A week and a half ago we went on holiday. It was the first full week journey the PH and I (and Shiva) have ever commenced together. It was amazing. We did a lot of this:
And saw a lot of these:
It would be easy to brush off the way I am feeling as post-vacation doldrums. Indeed, perhaps that is all it is. Only fitting. As an anticipation junkie, I languish without something to which I can look forward. I don’t know if it’s accurate this round. Then again, I am not prepared to name it anything else either.
Ho hum. And so I carry on, working and walking and whinging.
As far as this blog goes it is hard to me to say. This could be the first post of the rest of my life or it could be the end. I do know I want to put words down but I also know the trappings of the petosphere – as much as I owe them – constrain me. I don’t feel I can go back to the way things were. At the same time, I am reluctant to move on to something else. I have ideas, zillions of them are on the brink of escape one moment and then gazillions more are suffocated by my insecurities the next.
I’d like to try something new, define myself in some other genre. But I don’t want to give this space up either. Rescued Insanity is as much a part of me as Shiva, maybe more. I can’t see letting it fade away. Then again, I don’t want to let it pigeonhole me either.
How to proceed? I don’t have the energy for both. I don’t want to continue doing nothing. Thus I think my thoughts and meander my paths and avoid making any changes because it’s just too daunting.
I guess we shall see. But enough about me. How are you?