Monday, May 28, 2007

I have bad luck with dogs.

So I'm sitting here in my apartment, and I realize that minimizing my hours at Borders might not have been a good idea. I really don't want to go back there working full-time, though. I have an interview on Thursday for another job, and I've applied for several other jobs. I just hope that something comes out of this. At this point, though, mostly everybody has their summer temp workers, and no one really wants to hire someone who's going to start as full time and then go to part-time when she goes to school in the fall. I'm pretty much in the shitter right now, which sucks. I can only hope that I will find a job soon. Borders is cool and all, but right now I can't really stand it for more that 2-3 days a week. Please, God, help me find another job. It's the same problem I had in New York. I haven't had much experience in a paid job environment, because I've done a ton of volunteer work and after school activities... So no experience= no hiring. Boo, says I.


My luck with my dogs lately has been really lacking. Cocoa is, in fact, getting better, thank God... But Maggie had an episode today. Now, she's a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, and they tend to gain weight really fast when not under a schedule with heavy exercise. Well, Maggie has not gotten the right amount of exercise, and she's gotten fat. It also doesn't help that she has had bladder stones and has to eat this special (and also really fattening) food for that... Needless to say, our 4 year old puppy is a fatty mcgee. Adorable and SO loving... but fat. Anyways, my mom is trying this new regimen where she takes Maggie out to walk every day, and today, my mom took Maggie to walk. Well, they walked about 3 miles, and at first Maggie was leading mom and her friend. After a little while, Maggie started to slow down, and eventually she was trailing behind the two women. Mom realized that Maggie was really tired, so they took a pause, at which point Maggie rolls onto her back and rolls down a ditch. Normally this would have been a funny happening for Fatty McLargehuge, but she didn't get up. In fact, she couldn't get up. Mom carried her all the way back to the house and doused her in water while also giving her water to drink. Unfortunately, Maggie started throwing up all of the water she was ingesting. It turns out that the puppy was very dehydrated. Mom took her immediately to the vet, and they pumped her with 1 liter of fluids. Poor, poor little puppy. Anyways, Maggie needs to lose weight... Bigtime. She's our little roly poly, but she needs to be our slim roly poly. :) I'm just glad that she didn't have a heart attack. I would have fallen to pieces. Man, oh man.

I've been listening to a lot of Christian music lately, and I've forgotten how much I like some of it. :) Sure, some of it is trite and badly written, but... Some of the songs are just great. C'mon, "I Can Only Imagine" is just brilliant. And some of the old hymns sung in a contemporary fashion are so moving. I didn't realize how much I missed the songs from camp at Horton Haven Christian Camp. I had such a great time there, and these songs just remind me of all of the great memories and the wonderful people I knew there. In fact, next summer I might apply to be a part of the Core Staff there. I don't know. We'll see. :) I'm really excited about it, though. I think it'd be a good idea. I'm a little rusty when it comes to the Bible (That's what New York will do to you, I guess.), but I think that with a little time to reintroduce it to my system it'll be good.

I'm going to go read/write.


Sunday, May 27, 2007

In the Words of Billy Joel, "I'm Moving Out."

... except there's much less malice in that phrase in accordance with my life than it is in that song. Good old Billy Joel; I can look to his songs and find one for every one of my frequently changing moods.

I went to his concert with a friend of mine a couple months ago (I can't really remember when, exactly... but who's counting days??), and I must say that I fell in love with him and his music all over again. Seriously, the man is a genius. Sure, his singing voice may not be top notch, but just listen to the music. I couldn't imagine anyone else singing it. Also, the works are phenomenal. His lyrics matched with his melodies... Wow. Plus, he is a brilliant performer. If you ask me, one of the best ones of our time. He doesn't need to flash his pecks like the talentless muck that parades our concert stages today. All he needs to do is step out on stage and sing his songs. Now, that's talent.

Back to the point of this blog... I'm slowly but steadily making my way out of my parents' house. I've got the majority of my books (about 75% that ends up filling 10 and 1/2 moving boxes), and today I'm bringing a good chunk of my clothes over. Really, all that I lack is the rest of my clothes and books (which can be taken over in one trip) and various odds and ends. I'm thinking 3 more trips between the house and the new apartment. I'm glad that I didn't have a deadline to move out like my sister did; I think that I would have had a nervous breakdown. I mean, I'm moving from a place that I've lived since I was FIVE. Do you realize how much CRAP I have stowed away in all of the nooks and crannies of my room? I found stuff that I haven't seen since elementary school. Crazy. There were a lot of memories to be had, though.

For example, there was this book that my mom bought me WAY back when... We thought it was a picture book. I was just starting my lifelong obsession with books, and I saw this beautifully covered book that had a picture of a unicorn on it (I was a little girl, so unicorns were very appealing to me.). At once, I had to have it. I didn't even look inside (So much for never judging a book by it's cover, right?). I begged my mother, and eventually she gave in, because, come on... What mother is going to refuse a child when the child shows an adamant interest in reading?? Well, we brought the book home, and I open to find blank pages. All of them... blank. Well, not all of them. Some of the pages were pictures. So it was a picture book... It was just a picture book that you were supposed to fill in, kind of like Samwise at the end of Lord of the Rings (I know, excuse me while I snort and push my glasses further up my nose... but I thought it was applicable.). Anyways, I remember sitting down and freaking out, because I couldn't think of what to do with this story. Heck, I could barely write (You see several instances in the pages that I didn't know how to spell beautiful... I ended up spelling it byootifull. Hooked on phonics worked for me!)! On some of the pages, the writing changes drastically-- and also suspiciously-- to my sister's handwriting. It was on those pages that I begged my sister to write for me. I don't really remember my reasoning, but I wanted her to write nevertheless. Reading that book just reminded me where my love for books and writing all began. I guess I have my mother to thank for that.

In a lot of ways, I have really taken my parents for granted. They are wonderful people-- annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard at times, but wonderful people. Sure, they have their faults like the rest of us, and as their daughter I have this unreasonable standard set for them to be perfect and infallible. I guess as a little girl I thought that they were perfect, that what they said was how it was, that they were the gods of my little sheltered world. I didn't understand that they were human, that they made mistakes. I understand that now, and I'm doing my best not to expect perfection from them (I know they've long since given up on perfection from me.). As someone's kid, you expect them to always be there for you to pick you up when you fall, and it's good that you feel that you can trust them. But you reach a point where you do things not because you think, "Oh, mom and dad will pick me up if I fail," but because you want to be able to pick yourself up after you fail. It's that silly independence thing that starts to itch it's way into your skin once high school comes to a close. At least that's when it hit me. It might have come a little late for me compared to others, but... Hey! At least it hit me at all!

Cocoa's getting better, which lightens my heart so much. It's still unsure as to whether we're going to put her to sleep or not, but only time will tell that story. I had always hoped that she'd die peacefully in her sleep in our home. I hope that's how her story ends.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

The End of Life Is Always Hard

As children, we don't think about death. We simply do not worry that someday all of us are going to die. Now, I'm not meaning to start this off so negatively, but... I'm kind of down today. I remember when we brought Cocoa (my 12 year old Weimeraner baby) home from Manchester, TN. She was a rotund little puppy with clear blue eyes and a smile that made your heart melt. Sure, she got sick in the car because she was unused to the sensation of being in a moving vehicle, but hell... Even her vomit was cute. She has, since that day, been my baby. My buddy through thick and thin. She's probably been one of the only things in my life that has been there for me no matter what to give me a kiss on the face with her big, sloppy tongue.

I know that most kids say that middle school was hell for them, but I can honestly say that middle school was hell for me. And I'm not even being emo about it. The sad part is that the majority of it was my fault. It was still hell, though. From lying to backstabbing, cheating to suicide attempts, middle school was definitely trying. I almost didn't make it through. I wouldn't have had it not been for Cocoa. She didn't judge me. No matter what I did, she forgave me and loved me regardless. People should be like that. But I digress. Here begins my little sob story. Life was, according to me, nearing a drawn-out and painful death, and I planned on finishing it before it got me. So I took one of my mom's steak knives and traipsed on up to my bathroom. I sat on the toilet (How very Elvis of me.) and envisioned how the blade would cut open my wrists, how the blood would pour from my veins... Just when I was about to go through with it, I noticed that the door to my bathroom had been pushed open. You see, my bathroom door had suffered many beatings from my sister and I when we were little, and the door no longer closes properly (Talk about primo privacy, right??). At first, I panicked, because I thought it was my mom, dad, or sister. Thankfully, though, it was just good old Cocoa coming to say hi. She wagged her tail and smiled at me (Yes, dogs do smile.), and I broke. It was one of the most important moments in my life, and Cocoa was the catalyst in that event. I don't even want to think about what might have happened had she not walked through the door. For that, I owe Cocoa my life.

Now onto my main point. You see how attatched I am to this dog. She is not only my pet but my friend, my very own little baby. We've had scares where we've thought we'd have to put her to sleep before, but this time... This time it's serious. She's a big dog, and Weimeraner's have a tendency for rheumatoid arthritis... She's just old, you know? She also has tumors all over her body (I call her Lumpikins the Brave.), which kind of adds a little character to her. You couldn't miss her in a crowd of Weimeraners. She's beautiful. But as I said, she's old. Her hips have been giving out on her for the past couple of years, and yesterday, something happened that all of us missed. Somehow or another, she either fell or did something to her right hind leg, and now she limps everywhere she goes. She can't even make it up our stairs, so we have to carry her up. It kills me.

I've cried every time we've talked about putting Cocoa down, and this time was no different. You'd think that after multiple euthenasia scares I'd have cried all I could cry. Definitely not. Even typing this I get a little emotional. Some of you may say, "It's just a dog." No. Cocoa is not "just a dog." She is a part of my family. Losing her will be like losing a best friend, like losing a sister. A part of me will go missing, and it will never return.

I was at Cracker Barrell today with my mom, dad, Mam-maw (dad's mom), uncle (dad's brother), and aunt, and mom and Mam-maw and mom were talking about how we were probably going to put Cocoa to sleep. At first, I was fine. I had even thought about it earlier today while carrying Cocoa up the stairs.

We'll probably be putting her to sleep within the next week or so. I don't want her to be put down at the vet, though. I want her to be put to sleep in our house. She hates the vet. It scares her, and I don't want her to be scared when she dies. That would break my heart.

I wish I could just return to that little girl state where everything lives forever and unicorns really do exist.


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