.About A Dog.

“A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his." ” --  John Grogan, Marley & Me.


There are times in life that seem unbearably lonely; times when it's as though there's nobody a girl can trust with her heart, her soul, her troubles, or her triumphs -- it's like everyone is just waiting for her to become vulnerable and then take advantage of her when she's down. It's times like this when I'm glad I have a dog.

I've had my dog, Pepper, for eight or nine years now -- I lose track of the time, but it seems like he's always been with me. He rides along with me on most of my adventures unless it's too hot or too cold for him to sit in the pickup should I have to get out, and he gets shotgun -- rarely does he ride in the back. He likes to play tug of war with bailing twine, and he likes to run fast. He always gets gravy on his supper, and always half of my tater tots every time we go to Sonic. He sleeps next to my bed every single night on a fluffy pink (yes, pink) rug -- unless I'm having a bad night, then he sleeps next to me up on the bed.  I swear my entire existence is covered in white dog hair. I don't mind.

 

 

He always seems to know how I'm feeling. When I'm having a bad day, he'll come put his head in my lap and lay there quietly while I fiddle with his ears and tell him my problems. When I'm having a good one, he's always down for a long walk somewhere to run and explore and see what we can see. His calm and quiet demeanor somehow manage to quell the anxiety in me when I feel a panic attack coming on...I've always joked that he should be able to go everywhere with me and save me the cost of  my anti-anxiety medication. Sometimes he'll put his paw on my leg as if to say, "It's all okay, Mom. Just pet me and everything will be okay." And it always is.

 

 

I know there are some out there who don't understand the bond between a person and their dog (or horse, or any other pet for that matter). I don't understand those types. Studies have proven that owning a dog is actually good for the health of your heart, and I totally believe it. In my opinion, the love of a dog is like the love of God (is the spelling just a coincidence?). It's unconditional and ever-forgiving, and you are never alone with either -- or both -- by your side. Every single night when I go to sleep, I thank One for the other without fail.

 

 

 



.Enough.

Insecurities are inescapable. Some days they lie dormant, waiting, just under the surface. Other days they stare you right in the face. I wrote this almost exactly a year ago, and to this day I can’t escape the feelings that inspired it. No matter what I do, what I accomplish, who I’ve come to be, there’s so much still missing.

Enough

I wish I could be someone else.

I wish I could be prettier. I wish I could be more witty, more charming.

I wish I was the type of girl that people miss when she’s not around. I wish I was someone worthwhile.

I wish I had important things to say, so that when I speak people want to listen. I wish I could have a conversation.

I wish I had talent, so people would look at what I do and think, “Wow, that’s really great.” I wish I could do something important.

I’ve always wondered if maybe some people on this earth aren’t meant for great things. I know we’re all temporary, but I’ve always wondered if some of us are more temporary than others. If some of us are just stepping stones and fillers of space in the lives of those who are destined to be great. If we’re only here to help them pass a certain amount of time until their true purpose comes to call, or show them all the horrible things they must avoid in order to reach their potential.

I have never been brilliant. I have never been the kind of girl who captures the attention of everyone in a room when she enters. I have never been a holder of great discussions, the creator of a great work of art, or the great love of someone’s life.

I am plain. I weigh a little more than I should. I can be slow to catch on to jokes, oblivious to things that are right in front of my eyes. I cry too easily. I talk too much. I’m not strong enough.

I have a big heart – bigger than most. I have more love to give inside this little body than most, and an intense need to give it. I am loyal. I can take anything you can throw at me, and I will never waiver in my love or my loyalty.

Maybe that isn’t enough.

I wish someone would tell me what is, because I would give anything to just be enough.

.The Dreaded M Word.

There’s a word my Grandma likes to throw at me, pretty carelessly, in my opinion. I call it “the dreaded M word,” and even though I’ve railed against it as violently as I can ever since I was of an age to start being accused of it, it has snuck up on me in bits and pieces. Most people call it maturity. Shudder.


I am also not the kind of girl that likes to be alone with my thoughts undisturbed. I’m not a social butterfly by any means, but I am not a solitary creature either…in fact, I consider myself the queen of distraction; always music playing, always a book to read or the television on in the background, always with the dog by my side. I like white noise, and I like the comfort of my little bubble being full of familiar clamor.

Recently, though, a lot of shitty things have happened in my life and the aftermath has left me craving to be alone with everything cluttering my head and my heart. I want nothing more than to sort it all out and learn what my true, deep feelings and motives are and what’s just the pressure and influence of my surroundings. Even though I am pretty sure of the path my life is taking right now and I’m very happy going in that direction, I have the urge to know more about myself and figure out my innermost workings. And I’m beginning to see that maturing doesn’t have to be a death sentence for spirit and creativity, that maybe it just means I’m a creative, free-spirited person who is getting better about stacking my dirty dishes in the sink. It could be that I’m ready, at least in some areas of my life, to accept that particular label.

It’s strange the things I find comforting now, things that were tedious to me before, like reading the newspaper cover to cover instead of just the horoscopes and the funnies or actually cleaning the lint filter of the dryer after every load instead of just when dust comes puffing out of the trap after six or seven loads. I put real pants on to run errands rather than heading to the Wal Mart for nail polish remover in my SpongeBob Squarepants pajamas. I make lists for things to keep myself on track. I am actually looking forward to doing my taxes this year.

And I’m not really afraid to be alone with my thoughts anymore. In fact, I’m beginning to find that I relish the absolute quiet of being completely by my lonesome. I have discovered that I love my own inner-dialogue and that, usually, conversations with me, myself, and I tend to work out my personal issues faster than involving anyone else. It doesn’t make me antsy if my phone doesn’t ring for hours on end; I don’t have to take off and go somewhere if there’s nothing on television, and I don’t have to have the radio blaring when I’m driving…I can just sit with myself and feel what I’m feeling without being uncomfortable with what I might discover. I think that might be a bigger gift than always having a distraction, even a happy one.

I don’t know if this is all a side effect of one’s life being turned upside down, or simply a part of getting older, but I intend to ride the wave and see what comes of it.

There’s no point to this post, really, other than giving myself a sounding board, but truly, I’m excited to find out if this little phase is going to stick. I think it will. I think I’ll be pretty okay with that. After all, aren’t you supposed to be your own best friend?