Day 81

So, things have been weird lately.  Like something is completely off.  This tends to happen occasionally. For weeks I'll be riding this crazy high like:  "Woo hoo!  Everything is in place.  I've got my shit together.  Things are fantastic!  The world is beautiful and fun."

And then BAM!...one day I wake up, look around, and my life looks less like an organized bookshelf and more like the kitchen floor after the family dog decided to ransack the trash bin overnight.  Pieces and chunks of garbage I thought I got rid of, just strewn there in my face, sploshed across the cabinets and spewing all over the Pergo.  Won-der-ful. 

What's worse?  You can't really blame the dog.  He doesn't know any better.  You should have remembered the last time this happened (because it's happened many, many times) and sealed up the bin better.  Put it away.  Heck, taken the trash completely outside before bed. 

And it doesn't help that you constantly feed him scraps from the table...knowing it's not exactly right, but giving in because...and let's face it...those eyes?  Those sweet puppy eyes?  They can be so damned deceiving.  It's so easy to forget that behind those eyes there's a feral beast, only out for those table scraps. 

You've set him up.  Made it easy. 

And when you walk into the kitchen and see the mess, you realize that damned dog is nowhere to be found...hiding off somewhere, gnawing on the bone of some leftover chicken...reveling in his accomplishment.  Maybe he's even run away completely.  To a neighbor's house.  Where there's a buffet of new table scraps...

...and a bigger, much more accessible trash bin in the kitchen.

So you clean it up.  You remind yourself not to let this happen again.  And even in your anger, you think about your dog, and his big, sad eyes, and you look out the window a few times.  Rush to the door at the slightest sound.  Check the patio every few minutes. 

And if and when he does come back...drooling, jumping, happy to see you...you know--you know--all that anger and all those promises you made to yourself about the table scraps and the trash bin are going straight down the drain.

And you think to yourself..."Well shit...maybe I should just get a goldfish."

So yeah, that's the metaphor for the past few weeks.  Finding out your dog has decimated your kitchen when you weren't looking, pondering a new choice in pets to try and stop it from happening again.

On a related note, my coworker brought his dog, Beatrix, into work today:

Adorable.

(See?  There I go again...sheesh...)