19 May 2005
Everybody can now feel free to heave a big sigh of relief.
"The season" is over.
"The season" starts Thanksgiving week, passes through Christmas, then through Paul's birthday, then Dave's birthday, then the anniversary of Paul's death, then the anniversary of Dave's death and then we're home free until Thanksgiving when it all starts again.
We were back at Osaka Sushi last night, for our last sushi dinner of the year, having traded our traditional macaroni and cheese for sushi, which David also liked and which is much more palatable than Kraft dinner.
We have now passed the 9th anniversary of David's death, the 6th anniversary of Paul's. David would have been 33 now; Paul would have been 36. But they are permanently stuck at 24 and 30, respectively.
And life marches on.
So -- do you think I am letting dogs run my life too much?
Last night I settled into my recliner to watch "The Dog Whisperer" while I waited for the puppies, who were still in the downstairs bathroom, to wake up for their last meal of the day. Naturally, I fell asleep.
It was 2 a.m. when I woke up and realized two things: the puppies had not awakened at 11 p.m., and my bladder was very, very full. What to do?
If I went into the bathroom, I would wake the puppies up. They would decide it was time to eat and I would have to wake up enough to feed them in the middle of the night.
If I went upstairs, I would wake Sheila up and she would think it was morning.
I always boast that I have tremendous bladder control, so maybe I could convince myself that I didn't have to go all that bad.
But I don't have that tremendous bladder control and mind over matter didn't seem to be working. It was soon very obvious that I had passed beyond the point where I could convince my bladder that it could wait another four hours.
There was only one thing to do.
It was 2 a.m. It was raining. I removed my pants and went outside, bare from the waist down, tiptoing along the rocks and the dirt in the dark (didn't want to turn on the light because Sheila might notice) trying to find a good spot to pee, and feeling like a real idiot!
When I finished, I came back inside, closing the door as quietly as I could, only Sheila, who can hear a knife going through cake, jumped off the bed upstairs and started to come down. I quickly hopped back into the recliner, covered up with a blanket, and closed my eyes so she wouldn't realize that I was awake.
She stationed herself at the back door for awhile and I continued to play opossum until she finally went upstairs at which point I felt free to move around in the chair.
My mouth and throat were very, very dry and I desperately wanted to get a glass of water, but I didn't want to risk waking Sheila up again--or stimulating my bladder again, so I just went back to sleep.
I dunno. I think I've let these animals take entirely too much control over my life!!!
PHOTO OF THE DAY
Hamlet, then and now