Mrs Clean

Inspirational song: Cleanup Time (John Lennon)

My mother is a wise woman in general, but every once in a while she has flashes of brilliance that are so endearing, they should be shared with the world. We have always been an animal-friendly family. I didn't suddenly become a crazy cat lady in the last couple years when I lived alone. I was bred this way, and my mother is still the champ of all of us (even more so than my man). Many years ago, my mother was taking care of her house full of animals, and she made an observation about being careful what you ask for. I can't quote it exactly anymore, but it was very close to: "My whole life, I have said 'shit' [as an interjection] and that's all I have. I think I'm going to start saying 'money' and see whether I get more of that instead." Every few years, I recall this vow, and I try to follow her example to change the tone of my outbursts. I've said with conviction in the past, "I'm from Oklahoma. My two favorite words are 'shit' and 'y'all,' often in combination." Conversation with me is a lot like being in that episode of South Park, where they have the little counter at the bottom, marking every time that word is uttered. ("It Hits the Fan" from 2001 -- I looked it up.) If I am going to change my language that dramatically, I need to really think about what I'm going to ask for. Perhaps my word should be "clean." Picture that. "Clean it, y'all! I'm not messing around anymore." It could work.

I am having a horrible time focusing on writing, because of the inspiration for tonight's topic. It's bedtime, and Murray is in his cage. He hasn't stopped whining for about 15 minutes, and I am so over it. I was supposed to focus today on the next design attempt for his clothing line. The first one was horribly inadequate, and I need to make something that covers twice as much of him, so it stays in place. He's not going to like it, but I don't care. I honestly am sick of his shit -- literally. I'm not a germaphobe, but I am swimming in a torrent of dog urine in this house, and I can't clean it up fast enough. I have felt awful for days, and I worry that I have picked up a bacteria (or a dozen different types of them) from not being able to keep my house clean. I don't know what the man imagined was going to happen here when he brought Murray home. Living outside entirely as he was overseas was never an option. Here in the Deep South, winters are not particularly harsh, but they are still winter. Like today, they can be ridiculously wet. Murray didn't need to be stuck in mud, all day, separated from the rest of the family. He had to learn to be an inside dog. The learning curve is steep, however, and incredibly messy. If we do end up moving back to Colorado, living outside during all but the summer would be unbearable, and possibly unsurvivable. Hope for me that I feel slightly better tomorrow, enough to sew another jumpsuit for Messy Murray. And then I need to clean, clean, clean. I can't live this way.