Thursday, June 26, 2008

Green Dogs

Our lawn is freshly mowed and the dogs are romping around in the piles of cut grass. Bart's grey fur looks relatively normal but Maggie's white beard and Sam's white feet are stained neon green. They all have grapefruit sized globs of grass attached somewhere to their furry bodies. I give them a cursory swipe with a towel before letting all three of them in to the house, thinking that at least they all smell fresh and .... grassy. 

This is a change of epic proportions for me. In days past, I would have hauled out the dog shampoo, sloshed a bucket of water outside, and sudsed all canine appendages until I felt they were worthy of touching Couch. 

No more. 

I look around my house, and while I am really good at making light of the dust bunnies that threaten to take over the bedroom, or dishes piled up in the sink growing new forms of life, inside I seethe. 

My poor house just cries out for a good thorough housecleaning, but I just can't do it. The knowledge that I can't physically do it really ticks me off. Sometimes my physical limitations make me furious. 

Not quietly frustrated. Not miffed. No, I mean pitch a fit, throw things, primal scream, roll on the floor kicking and screaming and flailing the fists furious. The realization of what I would feel like if I gave in to those instincts and actually threw myself on the floor only makes things worse. 

At times like these, I think to myself, this isn't living Reasonably Well, Julia. 

No kidding. 

What keeps me from breaking out the confetti and balloons for a pity party? 

Sometimes, nothing does. Nothing stops those feelings of frustration and grief. I flop onto Couch and indulge myself in going through the motions of crying, even though I no longer make enough tears to soak a Kleenex. Which only cues another round of angst. I lie on my back, theatrically dangling arms and legs off Couch, throughly convinced that there is no one else on this entire planet that has as disgusting an existence as I do. 

Eventually, reality puts things into perspective. Doggie Sam, in an effort to comfort, launches himself onto my chest and squeezes the breath out of me. I gasp for air and laugh in spite of myself. My daughter comes home with news of her day. I hear the garage door open and know that John will throw something on the grill for dinner. 

It seems as though Couch decides that the time has come to put an end to the tantrum, and the cushions roll me and Sam to the floor. Bart and Maggie start a slobbering frenzy. 

Life goes on. 


Brussels Chronicles said...

A big hug to you today, Julia !

Julia Oleinik said...

Thanks, Isis!! All better now.