|Oh, the indignities of age…
||[Dec. 11th, 2007|11:03 am]
I’m still adjusting to keeping regular business hours – it’s a mad dash to leave work on time, since leaving at 5pm means the trip home isn’t bad at all. If I leave at 5:07…whole ‘nother ball of wax. (Which, go ahead, look it up, no one actually knows where that saying came from. The four sisters and the will rolled up in balls of wax....I'm not buying it. Reeks of apocryphal.)|
Well, I’ve got two dogs with their legs crossed. Willow, well, Willow’s never been able to hold it for very long. BUT she’s good about going on her special plastic backed pads, so although it means daily laundry, we’ve been okay. But Percy, who used to be able to go 14 hours or more…hey, it’s not like I MADE him hold it that long. If it’s raining or cold, though, that puppy would just as soon sleep as venture out.
Well, he’s not a puppy anymore. And sometimes ten to ten and a half hours is just too long for him. And sadly for me, he doesn’t seem to get the whole concept of the pee pads, choosing instead to whiz on the corner of one of the dog beds.
So last night, running a little late, wanting to kill Kill KILL those selfish pinheads at the end of 270 who are in the left hand lane, cruising along at snail speed, trying to get ahead of all of the people who are patiently waiting in line to merge onto the Beltway. But no, these folks want to cut ahead, but then of course, they’ve got to slow down right before the exit and desperately try to back INTO the line for the Beltway. In the meantime, the rest of us, who are actually using this lane to exit and SHOULD be able to just zoom down it and get the hell off of 270, have to slow down or stop while F-nut tries to convince someone to let him in and out of the exit-only lane.
Hey, I wouldn’t let him merge ahead of me, either.
But, now that I’m in the exit-lane, blocked by a whole series of F-nuts trying to do this….well, I’m gonna get me one of those locomotive cow-catchers and “assist” them in getting out of my way.
But that’s not my point, although it goes a long way to establishing frame of mind, doesn’t it?
I get home, race for the door, get the dogs out and take them on a quick walk. Then, usually, I go up, change into sensible clothes and shoes, usually grab the used pee pad to throw in the wash, start dinner, go through the mail, feed the cats, before I saddle up the dogs again to take them out for their long walk of the day – usually to meet the Captain as he’s coming back from the train station.
But this time I go upstairs and Percy’s had an accident all along the side of his own bed, cleverly managing to get his bed, the blankets on it, the carpet and my computer modem (don’t ask me what it’s doing on the floor, all right – no kidding, it’s a dumb place) covered in urine. So, I change into sweats, then I’ve got to ball up all of the bedding, the bed, wipe/blot, treat with urine-b-gone. Haul it all downstairs. I look at the clock, yikes running even later. Not that the captain can’t find his own way home – but walking the dogs accomplishes the dog walk, plus we get to talk on the way home and we all know that multi-tasking makes me happy. And if I leave too late, then we meet him too quickly and then I have to continue to walk the dogs past him, which just feels dumb. Plus, the dogs keep turning around and stopping, unable to figure out why we’re leaving their boy behind. Which makes me irritable and …well, enough said there, eh?
So, I’ve changed into comfy clothes and have actually made it downstairs without getting anything pee-sodden up against me, which is a minor miracle. And I’m stuffing things in the laundry thinking about how I guess now that Percy’s old (12!) I really have to make allowances and as little as I want to pay someone to come in and walk them midday, I’m going to have to bite that financial bullet, because it sure beats doing THIS every day.
And I’m a little sad at having to confront Percy’s advancing age…when I feel a sneeze coming on. A huge sneeze. So I sneeze…
And pee myself.
Getting old sucks.