Sometime in the past couple weeks, 11:30 PM became my new 2 AM. It is much too late for me to still be up.
The terrible day that I was dreading so much turned out to not be so terrible. Funny how that works. It was long, yes, and included some complications. I also, very much, do not enjoy being up and out of the house before the sun has had a chance to rise. Darkness ought to be reserved for nighttime as far as I’m concerned, not morning.
But it really wasn’t so bad. There were even parts of it that I liked. Funny how that works.
I’m a little bit worried about my dog. The first time he refused to come in the house tonight–refused to even lift his head off the grass from the spot on which it was laying in the middle of the yard–I thought it was kind of great and I left him out there while I made my dinner. Thirty or so minutes later when he finally came to the back door, I let him in the house feeling very pleased. The next time it happened, I began to worry that maybe it was his way of telling me he’s dying. I had to pull him up by his collar to get him standing. He walked about fifteen feet closer to the house and then laid down again.
(I just took a break from typing long enough to lean down, bury my face in his fur and say, “please don’t die.”)
Fears that my dog is going to pass away suddenly in the middle of the night aside, I think I’m actually pretty content. My anticipation of what today would be like was worse than the reality of it. I think this is often the case. I’m not quite sure why I insist on torturing myself with dread and anxiety. Especially when most of the evidence suggests that it’s rarely as bad as I am convinced it’s going to be.
I like to worry. I don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s the illusion of having some control over the uncontrollable or if it’s a deficit of belief in myself. Probably both those things and more. I also know that I wish I didn’t worry so much. I wish I let myself be where I am more, and maybe even enjoy it a little. Or a lot.
As I’ve been typing this I’ve been wondering if my dog somehow came into contact with poison.
I’m going to sleep.