life done write

.One.
One night, a few weeks ago, I was taking the dog for one last potty break before bed. On my way down the stairwell whose railing has been broken and dangerous since I moved in, I passed my new creepy neighbor: stumbling, drunk and bleeding from a gash in his head. Obviously, this was upsetting and frightening, and I rushed the dog out into the yard and then back into the house as quickly as possible.

.Two.
About a week or so later, the same creepy neighbor was locked out of his apartment by the girlfriend-roommate-whatever. I was again taking the dog for her nightly potty, when I watched the drama unfold before me. He was camped out on the doorstep, yelling for her to let him in, calling her names, shouting something about how if he didn’t get let in he’d end up in jail (WTF?). He was drunk and loud and probably violent. And again I shuffled the dog quickly out and back in.

I could still hear him from my living room. Screaming, pounding. And I called the Police.

I haven’t seen him since. Not stumbling up the stairs with a gash in his forehead. Nor pounding on the door using the C-Word. Nor leaning over the railing smoking and leering. So maybe he did go to jail.

.One.

Luna is afraid of things. And by things, I mean: geese, cats, the sink and the street (hoorah for the last one). Each of these things, if I am holding her, results in a mad struggle to get away. Because, someplace in her brain, the part that is supposed to tell her that the safest place to be is high above each of these things is not working. It is especially fun when I am holding my morning Starbucks and her at the same time. But you would probably be terrified too–if geese and cats were three times your size.

.Two.

Last night I was over at the Old House and Small Biting Dog came running up to greet me. First I would like to note that I have missed Small Biting Dog and said greeting made me very happy. Secondly I would like to note that somehow, some way, Small Biting Dog seemed HUGE to me in that moment. This is the power of getting used to things: get used to a four pound dog and suddenly a nine pound dog is enormous.

.Three.

Things Luna is not afraid of include: the vet, medicine, getting drop kicked by other dogs and the bathtub. I find the final item in this list rather humorous, as her not being afraid of the bathtub translates into her sticking her face into it during my shower. This, of course, results in a dripping-faced dog whose only ambition in life is to lick my foot as I step out of the tub.

She also wants to get into the bathtub and wander around and try to eat any stray hairs or dirt that she finds. Though I will note that she hasn’t asked to get into the tub since I gave her a bath (she does still stick her face in during my shower, though).

.Four.

There is a dog behind our full length mirror. Of this fact, Luna is certain. But she’ll only bark at this dog if she doesn’t think I am watching, or if the petsitter is trying to study. She has also done her own little investigation of behind said mirror, which is propped against the wall at the moment. This investigation, which has happened approximately 200 times, has resulted in her not finding this other dog. Which is sad, because according to her barks, she would like to kill it like she killed that clothes hanger the other day.

.One.

Today I got onto my health care provider’s website to search for a family doctor/general doctor, since I’ve been having some interesting symptoms lately. The search for provider system on their site is quite possibly one of the least well-organized systems on the planet. In a search for family doctors, a variety of results were returned. The first one I called turned out to be pediatric. The second: a hospice. The third: Planned Parenthood.

When I finally got through to the kind of doctor’s office I needed, the first appointment was late September. So I went back to my searching and my many accidental contacts with Planned Parenthood until I finally found a family practitioner with an opening this Wednesday.

I’m sure my work is totally excited about the hour that it took me to get that appointment.

.Two.

I am potentially visiting Roommate #1 twice this year. This is very exciting and will result in much facebook vanity and photographic evidence of ridiculousness, in between her being on call for the hospital and stitching up lacerations.

.Three.

This week, like so many weeks lately, I would like to punch the universe in the face. If the universe had a face, that is. And by the universe I actually mean Peter Pan. And whoever came up with the idea of work. And anyone who has ever forwarded that totally retarded email about Obama wanting to kill old people. And my parents. Both simultaneously.

.Four.

Boss was talking today about how she’ll probably take 9 weeks off after the baby is born. I have decided, in light of this new development, that I’m going to fake a pregnancy and also take 9 weeks off. Is it possible to start faking a pregnancy now and get to take my 9 weeks in early 2009? Do you think they’d notice the discrepancy between my time lines?

.Five.

From a discussion on how large enough doses of Vitamin C can harm a fetus: “In large enough doses even air will kill you. Go stick your head outside an airplane.” -Adam Corolla, Loveline

I am trying to start my free time (or perhaps each day) with the question: what would you like to do today? Or, what would make you feel most like yourself today? Or what would make you feel most free today? Or if you were traveling, what would you do today?

Obviously I still have to go to work. And I still have errands and other “home” obligations. But setting those aside, I do have some time to myself, since I am waiting for feedback from Editor #2 before I start my edits and since I do not have someone significant to spend every waking moment with.

Yesterday my answer was rest. In part because there seemed to be nothing else going on and in part because I didn’t feel like wandering, which is my other option during travel when there is nothing else going on.

So I stayed in and watched my guilty pleasure show (The Bachelorette), watched Harry Potter with the roommate (we’re getting her up to speed for the upcoming release of The Half-Blood Prince), walked to a nearby restaurant and ate one third of a giant burrito and read more of Eat, Pray, Love, which I can’t put down. Again.

And tonight is somewhat similar. I’m home early and eating more burrito. But I did go to the bookstore and sit with the travel guides, engrossed, for an hour or so after work. This is also what I did in San Francisco, funny enough. Sat with the travel guides and planned my trip to Europe. In this case, I was reading up on Africa, since VCF will be there next year and I do intend to visit if at all humanly possible.

All in all, a couple of relaxing days, to be followed tomorrow with theater and the next day with cinema.

March was a bad month. Definitely the worst of the year. Probably the worst of a lot of years. Feels like the worst of my life. And therefore I’m reviving the monthly themes. Because March is most definitely FML month. Oh, yes, coming from me, who loathes acronyms almost as much as Internet Explorer 6 and bad grammer.

I got my rejection letter from California, Irvine in the mail today. I knew what it was before I opened it. But I chided myself for being negative. When I did open it, though, the weight of that one, small piece of paper felt crushing. I almost sat down, then and there, in the snow dusted parking lot and cried.

I have my first ever appointment with a therapist on Thursday. Because every night I have dreams and every day I have really unproductive thoughts in unending strands.

Last night I had a stress dream that began in an unfinished house. I was sleeping there, I think. And his lead singer was there, talking to me. And there was something wrong; she was trying to tell me, but I couldn’t hear her. There was too much noise and too many people walking by. And I never heard what she was trying to say. The whole time.

I have stress dreams most nights. That’s the only one I remember much about though.

I guess there are some bright sides. Let’s be positive for a moment, shall we. My roommate gives me head rubs. I have plenty of dating options that I remain mostly unimpressed by. I haven’t lost my job yet. And, at least I’m not alone in having an FML month.

So there you have it. March is eff my life month.

[EDIT] The rejection from CA was followed up this next morning by a rejection from NYU. NYU’s rejection letter was the worst yet. Not because they were my first choice, by any means. CA Irvine and Iowa were battling it out for that spot. But because it took them two paragraphs to get to the part where they regret to tell me I’m not accepted. Put it in the first sentence, please, so I can stop reading.