Sunny Smiles

Sunny

I now have a Poodle to share my life with. Her name's Sunny, and she's a 10-week-old cream Standard Poodle. When I was growing up, we had a black Poodle named "Pepper." He was, undoubtedly, the smartest dog that I've ever come across. One day while playing in the backyard, I slipped and my foot went under the chain link fence, getting caught by a jagged tine. Pepper came over to me, assessed the situation, and began pulling at my pants leg, trying to get me free. He then saw I was still stuck and began digging at the ground. Then he would pull at my pants again. Then he would return to digging. My father finally saw what had happened and came to my rescue, but Pepper really tried his hardest to help me, and I've never forgotten that. So when I started considering inviting a creature into my home, I immediately thought of the Poodle.

Sunny came from a breeder in Stockbridge, Georgia, called Sundance Poodles. I picked her up Saturday and already, she's my bff. We visited the vet for the first time yesterday and everyone made quite a fuss over her. The vet told her to "sit" and she did, much to everyone's amazement. Dr. Meeker said that the Standard Poodle is the most intelligent of all the dog breeds, which only confirms my suspicions about Pepper. He wasn't unique to Dogdom; he was just a Standard Poodle.

I've already bought a ton of doggy accoutrements such as collar, leash, bed, brush, comb, food, treats, treat bag, toys (a dragon that honks like a duck, a pink bunny, and two teething thingys). She also has a seat belt for riding in the car, a water cooler, a radio tuned to classic rock, and a puppy blanket. She's redecorated her space every day so far, dragging the blanket from one side of the room to the other, moving the dog bed and even flipping it upside down. The bed started at one end of the room from her food & water, and now sits right in front if them. How very convenient. She takes one piece of kibble at a time, lies down on her pink fluffy bed and chews it very thoughtfully. Then she gets up for another one, doing the same thing with it. I thought dogs woofed food down. Not Sunny, evidently. Maybe it's another Poodle attribute. Maybe Poodles are "kibble connoisseurs."

I'm looking forward to the day when her puppy shots are completed and I can take her out without fear of spooky stuff like parvovirus. I can't wait to show Sunny the wide world and see what she does with it.

Overactive Frog Brain

Mortality: Not a Myth

Mortality must be real. Today I lost two of the icons of my childhood: Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. It's so incredibly painful to lose these larger-than-life characters; for me, it's even harder than losing family members. And yesterday it was Ed McMahon. As a child, you never think these great figures will age, much less disappear. Elvis died when I was eight. I remember what a shock it was to my family and older friends, although I think I was too young to understand. Since then, John Lennon, Paul Newman, Sonny Bono, Bea Arthur, James Brown, Johnny Carson. I remember thinking after Carson retired, and even more so after he died, that there was no longer any reason to become famous, since the pinnacle of fame would be an interview on The Tonight Show.

I have been thinking about death a lot lately. I've even been deliberately making myself think about it. I know my biggest fear is growing older, getting sick, and dying. I made a list of ten statements that I read to myself every day. It starts with 1) I am going to get old, 2) I am getting to get sick, 3) I am going to die. It may seem counterintuitive to some people that I do this, but I think it's a necessary step. Obviously, the rational part of my brain knows that it is impossible to prevent death and aging, but there's a part of my brain that thinks maybe it's possible. I have to convince this part of myself that I'm going to die and there's nothing I can do about it. I have to read these statements to myself until ALL parts of my brain are convinced they're true.

Slumlord Millionaire

I finally decided on a career direction (one that actually supplies me with funds which the world of poetry obviously does not do). I've decided to become a slumlord. While out house-hunting, I realized there are a ton of really cheap houses on the market right now. I could buy some, fix them up, and rent them out. Could be interesting. Could be profitable. I made a proposal to Fareed two days ago that he join up with me (as a business partner AND a life partner) and we could build our future together with hammer and nails (and rental agreements).

Yesterday, I was sitting in Steak n Shake eating a grilled cheese when I overheard a lady behind me telling her kid, "Money makes money; money makes money" (more emphatic the second time). At least I think that's what she said. Maybe I heard what I wanted to hear. I felt a brief moment of guilt (what have I ever done to earn the money that I've designated to build my slumlord empire?) before deciding to interpret the statement as a "sign." Money makes money; what a simple & obvious answer to my career dilemma.

A-ha

I read an article yesterday in one of those women's magazines in the checkout line, and I had what might very well be an a-ha moment. The article was about MVP (mitral valve prolapse), which I have. But it talked about symptoms that my doctor never told me were related, such as: fatigue (which I always seem to have), anxiety (ditto), and a racing heartbeat (kind of ubiquitous with an anxiety attack). The article advised sufferers to leave off caffeine and sugar and to drink plenty of water (a glass every two hours). Simple enough, right? Makes me wonder why my cardiologist didn't find it worth mentioning to me. I'm trying to follow those suggestions starting today, so we'll see if my symptoms improve.