Jeremy took some photos of me and a pug (Margaret) at last night’s family dinner. I want nothing more in life (uh, I guess in death rather) to be reincarnated as a suburban dog. I’d get to nap a lot, I’d get to eat a lot and people will love me for ME. Even if I become deaf, hairless, bark at unseeable things incessantly and fart a lot.
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I’m slowly coming to the realization that I think I’m going to miss the Women’s March on the 21st. I think it might be a big deal but we are suppose to be away on a big weekend get-away, just us grown-ups. These weekend get-aways are not easily planned, I made child care arrangements way before the election completely forgetting about inauguration weekend, probably thinking then that it would be a NBD weekend, though if the whole thing had gone the other way, it totally would have been a Women’s March with a different tone. As the Women’s March edges closer in the calendar, I’m hearing more & more chatter about marching in it from my various liberal media sources and then I think I should go, that I shouldn’t miss it. Blah.
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Edda’s feet make me sad everyday. I think this one, the right one, is deformed past pretending it’s not deformed or that it’ll get better or that it won’t get worse. Flared out like a comma from the ankle. Poor thing. Sometimes I’m overcome by panic that the foot will become deformed so much that she won’t be able to walk anymore. Then I have to consciously release that panic before it possesses me with an unrelenting grip. I made these beautiful feet (and spine) in my belly and now I’m powerless to watch it all fall apart in front of me. Ah, Edda! I’m trying. I’m trying.
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My mom gave me this sweater for Christmas and I tried it on today. I think I need to find an ice rink and learn to do a triple Salchow.
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Megan came by to visit in the afternoon. She’s home for a bit from travels abroad. She used to work closely with Jeremy, but now she does other things.
