When I had no one else, I always had my animals. They were and are always there for me when I need them the most. One in particular outshines even the fullest moon. Her name is Punk and she is my father's Pitbull and Boxer mix. Punk is 11 years old and today she was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Lift your eyes
Where the roads dip and where the roads rise
Seek only there
Where the grey light meets the green air
The hermit's chapel, the pilgrim's prayer.
-Landscapes, T.S. Eliot



The day we got Punk, she was so small that my father brought her home in the saddlebags of his motorcycle. She wasn't scared at all on that trip. According to my Dad, she would peek her nose out of the bag every so often and then go back to sleep again.



The cancer is too far gone to be treated. As of this morning, she has lost all mobility and the vet gives her only a very short time left. She was brought home to spend the last of her days with her family.

Punk is more than just a dog. I grew up with her. She was my confidante. When I discovered 'boys', she became my sounding board. Every crush, every embarassing moment that I had during my school years I relayed to her. And she listened. She was always there for me. Better than any human sister could have been.

Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let me cry come unto Thee.
-Ash-Wednesday, T.S. Eliot



Saying 'goodbye' was incredibly painful. When I found out about her diagnosis, I took the remainder of the day off work and went directly to my parents' house. I'm back at my apartment, forty minutes away, and I'm not sure if I'll ever see her again.

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air.
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will.
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.
-Ash-Wednesday, T.S. Eliot



No matter what, I'll always remember that she was the world's worst bed hog, cover thief, and was not a morning dog. But, she gave the best kisses and washed my ears at night when I fell asleep. What more could anyone ask for?

I find myself watching people and the way they interact as of late.

Yet what no chance could then reveal,
And neither would be first to own,
Let fate and courage now conceal,
When truth could bring remorse alone.
-Shadows, Richard Monckton Milnes (1809-1885)

Even though the majority of us consider ourselves honest and forthright individuals, we always hold back the most blunt of truths in order to preserve others feelings. Have you ever asked someone to answer a question with absolute honesty and when the answer was delivered find yourself wincing inside?

For example (Let's go with a trite and shallow question for the sake of simplicty):

"Tell me, honestly, do I look fat in this dress?"
"Honestly? It's not very flattering on your figure."

'And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
And smiles at situations which it cannot see.'
I smile, of course,
And go on drinking tea.
-Portrait of a Lady, T.S. Eliot

I found myself sitting at the coffee shop the other night, sipping a mocha and trying to read the paper, but instead becoming engrossed in watching my peers talk as though they were high minded and openly sneer at passersby.

'I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.'
-Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot



The brazen arrogance of youth, at the time it's being commited, is a powerful rush of ego and confidence until it's viewed as an outsider and I find myself wondering what damage the looks and snide comments made by these individuals are inflicting on those they are directed at. It makes me realize, as people duck their heads and pass by those crowded, leering tables, that every action (no matter how small) has a consequence that isn't small at all.

'Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through
narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from
the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning
out of windows...'
-Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

As I sit here, sipping my coffee and watching the world from my balcony, I realize that those idle hands (are the devil's work, they say) in my brain have dragged me into a more thoughtful mood instead of my usual goofy state of mind. I'm not certain if I like it.

"Max Bialystock is launching himself into little old lady land."

There is a lady at work who has meditative mantras taped up throughout her cubicle. She is a practicing Buddhist and, might I add, the most confrontational Buddhist ever to walk the face of the planet.

"Not many people know it, but the Fuhrer was a terrific dancer."

Angry Buddhist perpetually looks like she is about to throw herself on the ground and have a self induced seizure also commonly known as a two year old hissy fit. With her straight, long, black hair and tiny frame, she resembles the disturbing demonic girl from The Ring combined with that of The Grudge aged forty years. Seeing this creature thrash violently about would probably throw me into a state of terror induced catatonia.

"This pin used to hold a pearl the size of your eye. Look at me now, LOOK AT ME NOW! I'm wearing a cardboard belt!"

She made my life for the past two days a living Hell. Dantes' Inferno has nothing on this woman. Her voice has the capacity to paralyze the entire right side of my body. I could have been walking out of a spa after spending an entire week there, my muscles a veritable mass of jello, and if I heard her voice they would instantly lock up in rigor mortis.

"Shut up! I'm having a rhetorical conversation!"

Even when she gives salutations she sounds as though she's envisioning leaping over her desk and strangling me with each word: 'Hello' *throttle* 'How' *shake* 'are' *bashes head into floor* 'you?' *screeches like a banshee*. Hair and nails would be flying through the air at subsonic speeds.

"I'm in pain and I'm wet and I'm still hysterical!"

I have fifteen more minutes of blessed silence until she walks through the door for the next seven hours of my life. I wish I could find a way to make it part of her job description to wear a muzzle. I'd have her strapped up like Hannibal Lector before she was even halfway through the front door.

"He who signs a lease must pay rent. That's the law."

"You miserable wretch! How dare you take the last penny out of a poor man's pocket?"

"I have to. I'm a landlord."

[to God]"Oh, Lord, hear my plea; destroy him! He maketh a blight on the land!"

[also to God]"Don't listen to him; he's crazy."

Mid-Day Update A.K.A. What the Fuck?!:

I was driving back from McDonald's when I passed the entrance to my office complex on my way to the park. Lo and behold, what ho?! LAND! No, not land, but a strange crazy man on the side of the road. I did a double take and stopped at the light for a closer look as I waited to cross traffic. There was a middle aged white man wearing only a diaper and carrying a baby bottle. Up and down, side to side, he jumped about screaming incoherently at the passing traffic.

Whether this creepy, little emasculated man lost a bet or was truly psychotic, it will remain the strangest thing that I have seen so far in 2006.

I've been in a haze of medication and what feels like a hangover from a ten year drinking binge.

"Is there a Mrs. Swamp Thing?"

"No, I'm a bachelor."

Could you imagine two of me right now? My house is already a rampaging disaster of crumpled tissues and soup cans. I'm lucky I don't qualify for the super EPA cleanup fund.

I've adjusted the thermostat so many times in my apartment that I can't walk past it now without subconsciously reaching towards it. Hot, cold, hot, cold. Either I had the flu or I just hit menopause way too early.



"Me? Your boyfriend?"

"Why not?"

"You said it yourself: I'm a plant."

"That's okay, I'm a vegetarian."

Say WHAT? She's going to eat you? Does the term boyfriend translate to "walking buffet"? Give this woman a bottle of Ranch!

Well, I suppose it makes sense. For the majority of the omnivorous women out there the mammalian boyfriends are mobile sausages with wallets.

"Oh shit. There goes the neighborhood."



Damn it, I need a nice date. One that starts and ends well without those awkward silences where you find yourself staring at your food and thinking, 'Oh God, have I died? Is this Hell? Purgatory? What is that strange growth on his nose? Should I fake a seizure to get out of here?'.

"Immortality? Yuk! What did you do, sell your soul to the devil?"

"More like a lease with an option to buy."

Just to clarify, the quotes are from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series.

"In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move."

Yesterday, these little blue pen lights were passed out at work as a gift for our department because we had met our safety quota this quarter. Our department successfully survived the quarter without any accidents and, thus, we were rewarded with nifty flashing toys. Obviously, they were immediately used as sniping weapons and shot into the eyes of the unwary.

For example (as I was telling AM):

"Bug! Come look at this error on my computer."

[I go over there]"What error? I don't see any--ARRGH! AH! My eye!"



"My doctor says that I have a malformed public-duty gland and a natural deficiency in moral fibre and that I am therefore excused from saving universes."

Even my boss got in on the fun. I went up to his desk to drop off a report and he jumped up, yelled, "a-ha!" and shot me in the eyeball with it! I dropped everything and nearly toppled over backwards from shock - and pain.

He then snatches up a spare pen light and starts flashing them both at me in strobe. It was at that moment that I told my boss I was calling the ethics line on him for attempting to burn my retina and give me seizures.

His response, you ask? He said he was planning on using it to train us like Pavlov's dog. *flashes the light* "Get back to your cube!" *flashes it again*

Me:

"The knack of flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss."

Obviously, I can't fly. Remember the toe? Well, the Toe Saga continues.

I got home from work last night and was walking over to the dog bowls to refill them when I stumbled into my boots and stubbed my toe all over again. It started bleeding, again.

"Damn you, toe!" I screamed and ranted and raved, but it did no good whatsoever. My toe was not contrite. So, I wrapped it up in a giant padded hunk of toilet paper to sop up the blood and went back to doing the dishes.

Is that all?! OOoohh, noooo!

"You barbarians! I'll sue the council for every penny it's got! I'll have you hung, drawn, and quartered! And whipped! And boiled...until...until...until you've had enough. And then I will do it again! And when I've finished I will take all the little bits, and I will JUMP on them! And I will carry on jumping on them until I get blisters, or I can think of anything even more unpleasant to do..."

Sam came over and started barking at my padded foot. So, I continue washing the dishes and try to shoo him away. My hands are all soapy and I don't want to slop suds all over him, so I wiggle my foot at him in a 'shoo'-ing motion.

He bit it! He bit my foot! And was horrifically, barbarically pleased with himself. He thought I was a giant squeaker toy! He even had the gall to wiggle around with a "Look what I can do!" dance.

"Nothing travels faster than the speed of light with the possible exception of bad news, which obeys its own special laws."

I don't have a toenail any more. *sobs* I really, really don't. And my toe is purple.

I woke up this morning sniffling, sneezing and with a slight fever. Now I'm sick AND sans toenail. I have this feeling...

"He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it."