The dog’s shadowing me today. Do you want something, buddy? What do you want? This is the second day in a row. A two hour romp did nothing to cool his canine stalking tendencies. If he weren’t small, cute and beloved, this watchful stint would creep me out a lot. As it is, I feel like I’ve got the physical embodiment of my conscience trailing me, reminding me of all sorts of things I wouldn’t think of if the little dude could just speak.
Where am I right now? “Please god, don’t let my identity crisis go into full gear again.” I’m 30 years old, and the uncertainty is ridiculous.
As is my dog.
I think I’ll spare a dissertation on hormonal fluctuations. This might be womanliness at it’s peak most irritating, but the words are freaking me out. I’m feeling transition all around, but still experiencing stasis. What is going on? I’m pretty sure I’m not holding still. But talk of ‘moving on’ seems to be the topic, lately, and I desperately wish to change the subject. Am I jealous? Am I jealous of the people that find bizarre life changes cropping up like manna from heaven? My brother is building bridges in Ecuador. My mother won lots and lots of money the other day. Friends are quitting their jobs, moving to Vegas, finding new and improbable love.
Maybe I am jealous. Do you remember that Costner movie, ‘Field of Dreams’ when the ball players invite James Earl Joneses character to come see heaven in the cornfield, and Costner gets all discomfited about it. “I wanna go! Why can’t I go!.. I’m the one who built this freakin’ place!”
“But you aren’t invited, Ray.”
I feel you, Ray. They were technically your vegetables, like c’mon. That same creepy voice is saying it isn’t my time now. Have the grace and understanding not to self-detonate; don’t give up the ground you’ve been breaking, or push those delicate relationships you’ve nurtured too far simply because you want more.
I want more.
I donno what it is, exactly, but I want more.
God, doggy-butt what the fuck are you looking at? I wish you could tell me what the deal is. You just lay there next to my feet and look at me with that ancient wisdom sometimes embodied by pets and very young children. That ageless, all knowing, waiting look. What the fuck is it? Is there something I’m supposed to be doing here?
…or do we just wait, you and I? Wait here in this small-town life, living gently and quietly, making our extremely predictable rounds through a loop of interminable days…
It doesn’t hurt to have a companion, I guess.
But if you pee in my closet again, I swear to God I’ll trade you in for a fucking monkey.