the incurable dreamer

writing my way from misery to bliss, one word at a time

Category: pet sitting

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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