It’s way too late and I’m way too awake, in part because the Boxhound — unaware that she no longer weighs 15, but 50 lbs. — jumped up on the bed, stomped on us, and whined pathetically until I hauled myself out of bed and took her outside, where I stood in the freezing cold while she nosed in circles around the yard. Where she sprinkled about four drops of urine. Where she proceeded to wander for half an hour and dig about half a dozen shallow holes. Where she did not, in short, do any urgent business.
No, THAT was waiting for me when she dragged me back inside. I picked it up, wiped the residue, and applied cleaner. About a minute later, she started whining again and, in the desperation of the very, very sleep-deprived, I replied: “Just crap on the floor again, I’ll clean it up.”
Also, I’m about 4 hours behind My Fella in terms of cold onset, so I’m not feeling my best. Earlier, he drank some cough syrup — for which he was actually carded when he got to the register; I thought that was pretty funny because I didn’t realize that anyone over the age of 12 tried to get stoned on Robotussin. Anyway, it worked and he’s now in a light coma whereas I’m up with sniffles and a whining puppy.
Theoretically, it’s nice having family around and in-town — even if it’s not my side, not my blood relatives. Unfortunately, in reality, it’s mostly a one-way street: we’re contacted when they need/want something from us. And heaven forbid it’s ever the other way around, because then we never, ever hear the end of it, how we’re inconveniencing everyone with our basic, unavoidable life needs.
I have rarely felt so alone while surrounded by SO MANY F*CKING PEOPLE. Although, in fairness, at least the in-laws have proximity on their side — or at least the willingness to visit. Despite the fact that my own kin live in the frozen latrine known as Pennsylvania, they will never, ever come to see me, despite promises to do so. They give their reasons as “so far away” and “can’t get time off work,” which are true but only part of the story. Mostly, and I readily admit this, it’s because I’m nobody’s favorite child OR sibling. This is my fault, as I’ve done nothing to merit affection from anyone. I am this weird, ugly, unlovable embarrassment to everyone and best forgotten.
In fact, I’m increasingly tempted to take myself out of the equation altogether. But I sort of worry that if I did, the dirty laundry wouldn’t ever leave the floor, that the trash wouldn’t ever make it out to the curb, that the daily drudgery of life would remain left undone. I do serve some small purpose, albeit one that could be outsourced for a reasonable sum.