And the rain keeps coming, and the blankets stay warm.

I hang out with Fox, our old dog, a lot these days. And I'm not gonna sugarcoat it- it's no fun. Fox is not a fun dog. There are very specific places on his body you can pet him and only in very specific circumstances or he snaps at you. The top of his head may be ok. And then he'll move his head so you're rubbing the gunk out of his eyes or digging into the inside of his ear. It's gross. But you aren't allowed to touch his legs or any part of his back end. And he wants to hang out with you, but that mostly means he wants to lay on most of whatever blanket you are using.

He's a needy dog, but he's a snappy dog too. You cannot cuddle him. He does not want that. He wants what he wants when he wants it. He won't come down the stairs unless you're watching him and making noise for him.

But I think the thing I find most frustrating is the taking up more than half of the bed thing. If there is a dog in the house I'm staying in, they will sleep with me, and they will take up more than half the bed. I've spent all my adulthood clutching the edge of the bed, and it's not even because I'm sleeping with other people. It's just all these selfish-ass dogs.

And when I lie there at night, with a fourth of the covers, clutching the side of the bed and getting attitude from Fox every time I move my legs, I think, "This is not how babies get made."
Nopers.

Tension.

Ohhh, I feel it coming off of me in little hard chips. I have time on my hands, I blew through some money recently, and the great fear is stalking me. Surprisingly, this is not depression. If I'm anxious, I'm not depressed. When I was depressed, I didn't write blog posts. The faith that my anxieties are ok to put on the web is actually a great and wonderful card to hold.

I have forgotten, in general, how to cook for myself. I used to really know this, hands down. I used to even bake my own bread, every sunday, for the week. For about a year I did that.

I mean, I also used to cry every time I'd walk my dog, for like 3 years, so I am not arguing that I have backslid. Absolutely things are better, I am better, than I was before. Fresh bread or no fresh bread. The fresh bread was part of the great plastic purge of my first winter in Chicago, and in retrospect, was OCD-lite. Not that lite, since my 2 weeks of veganism resulted in a 10 pound weight loss. Not in a good way, at the time I did not have 10 pounds to lose.

I was reading about Gampo Abbey, which is the tibetan buddhist monastery in Canada where Pema Chodron lives, and their daily schedule. To apply to live there you have to commit to live there for a year, and you have to have at least 6 months of daily sitting down. This is eminently sane- it would make no sense to go from no daily sitting to 5+ hours every day with a bunch of strangers.

Ohhhh, but I how I want to be kidnapped by a bunch of buddhist nuns and made to wake up at 6, do chores in silence, sit for 2 hours, do yoga, do more chores, do more sitting, and then lights out by ten. Extremes feel very comfortable to me. But as someone trying on gentleness and sanity, how would a person move towards that kind of disciplined living in small steps? Because small steps are the hardest for me. Sitting for 10 minutes is almost impossible. Can't someone force it on me?

Do I really, as an adult, have to make these choices on my own? Could someone guilt me into me? Couldn't someone call me and leave angry messages about this?

OOOHHH I JUST HAD A REVELATION. THAT'S WHY I'M SO OBSESSED WITH FINDING A PARTNER. BECAUSE I WANT THEM TO BADGER ME INTO DOING THE THINGS I WANT TO DO. THAT'S WHY IT FEELS LIKE LIFE WON'T START TILL I HAVE A PARTNER. BECAUSE I'M WAITING FOR HER TO SHOOT THE GUN THAT STARTS THE RACE.

Whoa. Damn-a-rama.