the incurable dreamer

my dreams are my disease, chasing them my only option

Category: pet sitting

the twinkle of possibility

For those who don’t know, I have been pet sitting for almost a year and a half.  The point of this whole pet sitting gig was to save money for my wanderlust dream.  Okay, wait.  Did I say dream?  It’s not only a dream.  It, in fact, is vital to my soul and is the difference between life and death.  I don’t just dream it; I need it.

The problem with pet sitting, though, is that I frequently move from house to house, so I am continually packing my shit in and out of my car.  It’s exhausting.  Also, my introvert-self is increasingly becoming overwhelmed by all of the text messages, emails and phone calls, and all I want to do is creep into a cabbage patch and hide until everyone goes away or leaves me alone – behaviour so not conducive to this type of living.  And also slightly problematic because I don’t know anyone who grows that much cabbage.

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un-shaggable but hopeful

So, 2017 was a mixed bag for me.  Appropriately, I spent the last month of it hiding away in the shadows.  My situation was dire.  I mean, when I cried ordering a coffee from my barista at 5 am for the third day in a row, I acknowledged that there was considerable room for improvement in ‘dealing’ and that a ban was forthcoming if I didn’t stop making coffee super weird.  Yeah, I have been a bit of an undisciplined dumpster fire of emotions lately.  And the lit celebration this holiday season only seemed to amplify the palpable ache in my heart – one unyielding even to the strongest of wills – and it sunk me to familiar depths and rendered me defenseless to unrelenting despair.

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not so stupid after all

On Sunday, I began a pet-sitting gig.  I know, I know! But, before you start sending me ‘WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?’ messages, please know I have already been adequately lectured and understand the poor judgment I exercised when making this decision a couple of months ago.  When I found out the date of my surgery, I canceled all my pet sit jobs, for obvious reasons, but this one I kept, because my only requirement was to take care of two delightful, low maintenance cats, and this place, in all honesty, is a little slice of heaven. It is nestled in the forest and is very tranquil, and I felt it was a perfect place to spend some time during my recovery.  Luckily, the world has mostly stopped spinning, and my antibiotics have worked well enough to allow me to keep up my end of the bargain.  In hindsight, and based on the pure shit luck I possess, I should have known better than agree to be somewhere so soon after surgery – sometimes, though, I simply forget who I am.  I would have looked like a real jack if I had to cancel just days before their vacation, but thankfully, here I am.

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pour me another

When I woke up yesterday morning and raised my body to get out of bed, my first thought was ‘FUCK. THIS.’  It was not a Folgers-in-your-cup kind of morning. Instead, it was one that elicited tears and made me wonder how much better I would feel if I were dead.

Not only is my uterus trying to destroy me, but I have a pain in my back that is so extreme simply existing is taxing.  When I met my Chiropractor for an assessment of my back, he asked me, with a hint of gleeful anticipation, ‘What makes your back feel better?’ and my deadpan response was, ‘Not breathing.’  The x-rays he took confirmed the no breathing thing, and his assessment was that I was totally not messing around.  I needed help.  My back is in bad shape, and since ‘not breathing’ is not an option, he devised a plan of attack intent on relieving me of the horror plaguing me on a daily basis.

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keith, i just wanted to snuggle

Yesterday I began pet-sitting for some new people. It did not get off to a good start, and I am now of the belief that it is imperative I stay extra on top of my game while I am here because it seems like if I don’t pay attention for even one second, something is going to go catastrophically wrong. Like for example, the cat is so large that when she lays down, she looks like a bath mat. It makes sense that this would be the week she explodes.

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and then i met a duck

I hate the saying ‘The universe only ever gives you what you can handle.’ Like, hate. it.  If someone ever says those words to me in my time of need or sorrow, I will have to refrain from punching that person in the throat (not really, but AHHHH!).  I think that quote is absolute crap and makes no sense at all.  The universe dishes out whatever the hell it wants, to whoever the hell it wants, and when it does, each of us is responsible for how we respond to it.

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just maybe, larry isn’t a serial killer

*names, destinations, and occupations have been changed in this post…for obvious reasons.

I don’t like to refer to myself as a paranoid person (I totally am), I prefer to say that I possess a vivid imagination. When I was 15, I was often at home alone, which was great – my dad trusted me. It was not unusual, though, for me to ask my friends to walk through every inch of my house when they dropped me off at night to make sure no creep was lurking in a corner waiting to kill me. When I was too embarrassed to ask them to do it, I walked every inch myself, steel bar in hand. It was the only way I could close my eyes and fall asleep alone in my house, with the knowledge I was, in fact, alone. One morning, convinced someone had broken into my dad’s bedroom and was rifling through his dresser drawers, I jumped out my bedroom window, with my dog tucked under my arm, and fled three doors down to my friend Ronda’s house and called the fuzz. After a thorough walk-through of the house, they concluded that there was no evidence anyone had been there, and my dad’s underwear and socks were intact – still meticulously folded in his drawers, just as he had left them. Oopsie daisy. I told you, a very vivid imagination.

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