Listen to this while you read. You won’t regret it.

It’s summertime. We’ve had and will continue to have these long, hot days of yellow sun. All I want to do all day is lay around in the minimallest of clothes and listen to records.

This is one of those days I hate my job.  I have a chronic pain condition that I practically never talk about because it bores me and makes other people feel uncomfortable.  Today is a particularly obnoxious one in that regard.  And, in that general vein of obnoxiousness, everyone in the entire world has dropped by my office or called to chat while I’m trying to get my damn work done so that I may cover myself in sunscreen and go to sleep on my balcony this afternoon:

  • the guy who always tells me I should find a better job, as if this idea has not occurred to me, before going on and on about his successful but genuinely reprehensible children.
  • the guy who stares at my tits while making utterly distracted conversation.
  • the pastor’s wife, who wants my opinion on where she and the pastor should eat their lunch and whether I think it will be hot this weekend and who then called back because she forgot she’d just called me.
  • the pastor, who is, for some reason, making weird grunting sounds today.  Or maybe he’s keeping a hedgehog in his office.  I have no idea.  I don’t want to know, really.
  • the woman who wanted to brag passively aggressively about her skill at remembering meetings without the phone call reminder it is not my job to make.
  • the people whose cats I’m feeding while they’re on vacation wanting to make sure I’m feeding their cats.  I’m remembering to feed their cats.
  • my sister, who wants to know what I think of her wedding photographer and who seems to have forgotten the two hours we spent on this very subject two days ago.
  • the guy who learned all his “young people’s slang” from watching Dangerous Minds on TBS and who uses it frequently when addressing me.
  • the choir director, who seems to have come by only to let me know she hates me a little.  I hate her a little too.


This morning when I came out my door I found a very dirty white dog wagging his tail on my front step.    He has a xylophone body covered in curly fur.  I poured him some cat food and some water, and he licked my ankles and wagged his tail until he nearly lost his balance.   I tried not to make eye contact, though, and I resisted the urge to pet him.  Later I’ll see if I can find the people he belongs to.  Maybe has people, nice ones.  Maybe he just came by to say goodmorning.  Or maybe I’ll see if I can find him some new people.

I want this dog to be my dog.  There are a lot of reasons why this would be an unsuitable arrangement.  But, damn, I am in hardcore dog-love-at-first-sight here.  I accidentally gave him a name*.

By the way, this scenario is exactly the reason I have a cat.  My at-the-time boyfriend picked up a stray cat and put him in my arms.  He’ll probably die out here in the woods, he said quite reasonably.  I burst out crying, of course, and took him home with me.  Now he sleeps on the top of my head and tries to bite my scalp at every opportunity.  My cat is a total bastard.

Animals are really the last, best resort of squishy-hearted misanthropes.

*Damnit! I just googled dogs.  He’s probably a highland terrier mix.  He looks a little like this guy. Ack.