| [Tags**|caffeine, fatigue, nightmares] [Current Mood** |
dour]So, after less than four hours' sleep I wake from a horrible nightmare that something's happened to Mischa.Nothing has, of course; I don't wake up with any sense of "oh my goodness, I hope he's alright." It's just during the dream that he died slowly and horribly of thirst because I carelessly fastened his collar (sic, even though he doesn't wear one) to a fence and left him fastened there. And then in the dream I'm howling with grief and guilt because my darling, sweet dog has suffered such a hideous and painful death.I know objectively that Mischa will die one day, but I avoid dwelling on the fact. Hell, I'll die too. But I want his life to be sweet and his death to be gentle. 'Cause while there are plenty of family and friends I'd put before him in all sorts of ways, it's my dog that I _love._After that, my day can only really get better. And it does.The weekend before last was Akeela's birthday party, and it was notable for two things. One: the lovely, adorable people who come to visit us for parties. Two: Mischa. Three: it was the first sustained twenty-four hour period for a long time where I have consistently felt happy. Today, another milestone: I spend the whole day feeling positive, active and confident. Enjoying the company of friends, dealing affably with people I don't like, sorting stuff out, being both engaging and engaged. This is me, this is the person I recognise, Footpad at baseline.There's a big project coming my way at work—a bit belatedly, the first thing in my career that really qualifies as "project management," with people up to executive-director level watching it, and I know I can acquit myself decently. It's especially surprising to be told I've been chosen for it for my people skills, which I've always considered erratic at best—I know I'm nice, mostly, but that's not at all the same thing as being able to reconcile differences and persuade the reluctant.Then, flushed with my oh-so-niceness, I wander online and get into a brief and minor scrap with one of the less well-informed right-wingers in our diverse little community. I certainly make him think I'm a bit of an arsehole, and I am, but I don't really care. I don't really give a toss about annoying these thin-skinned types any more, especially when they think my everyday vocabulary and writing style are a deliberate gesture of scorn. Numbskulls. :) I just try not to escalate things too far. Fun though they are to bait, it's not good karma and it's not nice for everyone else to read. Eventually I jauntily point out to him that each of us now considers ourself superior to the other, and on that barbed note I happily reckon my day is done. |
Doctor Dog and