one time around the ballroom slow

"sometimes things happen, and they're really scary." my usual eloquent, articulate nature is muted. from shock and gin, probably. a cool change has surged through, smelling of salt and relief. respite.

today Spike couldn't stand up, couldn't stand up and wouldn't respond. he's old, and deaf, i know i know i know, but he's never looked right through me and whimpered. i thought i'd be as sick as him, vomit all over our courtyard like he did. i let him lie on top of me while i called my grandparents and couldn't tell who was shaking more - me or him.

so we took him to the hospital, muzzled because he didn't seem to recognise us, seemed like all his muscles hurt. we carried him to the car on a towel, a neardeadwieght that had me nervyedgyscared, and my grandparents tensetersetightlipped. barely a wag of the tail from a dog who normally goes into overdrive when the chance to get in a car presents itself. and when we got to the vet's, he had to be carried in a stretcher, whimpering.

Dr Leah tells me it's probably heatstroke. my grandparent's tell me it's probably heatstroke. they all say he's going to be fine. they arrange to keep him in overnight, and i fork over $200 so that they can do blood tests to make sure he's ok. i want to ask if i can see him, but i'm aware that i'm twenty, not twelve, that i should be behaving more responsibly. so instead i go home and pick an arguement with my other grandmother about how if she'd let me keep him inside like i wanted to, he wouldn't be spending the night with strangers.

and i speak to Jason, who worries about my eloquence and articulation until we squabble about stress displacement. my family comes home from new zealand and in ten days i have forgotten how noisy they are. we eat pizza with blue cheese on it. despite six people hollering over it, the house seems like it's missing something. someone.

someone big and hairy and smelly.



x

this is very wentz-esque, i realise. tough shit, i'm upset. you try dealing with your dog being sick and see how you like it.


x

i just finished Schlink's "The Reader", which was quietly breathtaking. it's technically a holocaust novel, but i think it's more of a study of guilt and denial. i can't wait to see the movie version with Kate Winslet. also read Orwell's "Down and Out In London & Paris" which is so starkly lyrical and raw that it made it on to my top twenty books i've ever read. next up, that peter cameron and grace paley, please.

guilt!

who thought i was dead, go on, show of hands?

i'm very much alive and well as can be expected. apparently. i promise i'll try and get this up and running again, perhaps this time with something interesting on it. if we're lucky.

in the meantime though, i've discovered this The William Beckett Blog which is providing me with hours of entertainment, as well as insightful things, which i'd tell you about but they've slipped my mind.

other things that i'm doing at the moment instead of being a slave to my computer:

- looking for a job
- drinking heavily at the Shakey with Lizzlefonizzle
- sleeping
- reading Walter Moers books, which are comedic genius
- reading Barack Obama's book, which is not comedic genius
- shouting at everything and everyone
- drinking heavily
- wishing i was back in Berlin and/or Edinburgh
- making lists.

BUT! i have terrible guilt that the last y'all heard of me, i was about to go glacier trekking in Iceland. seriously. terribly terrible guilt. verging on catholic, my guilt is. honest.