Half a Lorezapam to the Wind

I made it to Independence Day, but not without experiencing the constant, nagging anxiety to which I have grown accustomed, so accustomed that I can clearly recognize the level of unsettledness that lies directly between “I should take a lorezapam. “ and “I can do this by myself.”. One-thirty this morning was a very clear lorezapam moment, just half, though. Most of the problem was a basic lack of the ability to sleep.

My friend’s Boston Terrier has been staying with me for the past few days. Her mother is in hospice, dying from ovarian cancer and driving back and forth from MA to NH each day has become very hectic business for my friend, so I took her dog.

She’s very cute and has proved to be a nice distraction from my Fourth of July sadness. She doesn’t allow me to cry. The other night, I was crying on the couch and she jumped in my face, incessantly licking my tears until I stopped. Then last night she was sleeping way at the foot of my bed buried under the covers and I was at the head. I began crying silently (I thought) and unaware that she was still on grief-watch. I can’t seem to lay in bed without the distraction of the television without recalling the memories of Chris that destroy me the most. Within a couple of seconds, she dug her way out from under the covers and threw her entire body (albeit tiny) onto my face and just lay there looking worried. I laughed and that was the end of my tears for last night. She’s a good egg.

We just got back from a walk. After a few days of walking with her three times a day, I think it is safe to say that I no longer want a dog of my own. I’m always happy to have my little Shnookie-face spend some time with me, but having a dog of my own is a wish of the past, unless I can share the responsibility with somebody else.

I know I haven’t cried the last of my tears this long holiday weekend. Tomorrow I will be safely surrounded in others at work. It ain’t the nicest solution, but it works.

Safe Fourth