I had a dream a few nights ago about my dogs. I heard a fast, rhythmic tapping against a screen door, and recognized it as Elsa's tail hitting said door. In the dream, I let Bump and Elsa come running inside, but instead of Murray, the third dog was some tiny little purse dog I didn't recognize. I don't know what it means, other than that I miss the dogs. I am enjoying not hearing incessant barking, and my garage and back yard smell much better. But nonetheless, I miss them. Beginning on the morning after I had that dream, I started getting more photos from the road, of dogs running in very tall grass and snoozing in their new RV home, unimpressed with the goings-on of Mr X who was taking time to repair and customize the RV. I wonder whether they think of me as well.
I spent almost the entire day out back. I gave myself an extended-soak mani-pedi with plenty of Epsom salts and hot pink nail polish, and I finally finished reading the book Mr X asked me to check out of the library when he left on his first cross-country tour with the dogs in May. He couldn't believe I'd grown up in Oklahoma and never read Cimarron. It took me a few tries to get through it, what with all the drama making it hard to focus on the way Ms Ferber played fast and loose with her timelines. It's currently about $3.50 worth of overdue to the library now. I suppose I'll take it back tomorrow, if I remember. Mr X and I have had a few exchanges that seemed metaphorical over the last several weeks. I wonder whether I'm getting the message he intended off of this book, if he intended one at all. I sure am finding a lot to ponder from this reading choice.
This week is going to get harder before it gets better. If it gets better at all. Tomorrow and Friday each have unpleasantness scheduled. I may just worry about pretty pictures of flowers and dogs for the rest of the night, and not documents and courts and veterinarians.
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