Fletch and I won the battle of the fleas last weekend, when we took the house apart and put it back together. Twice.
What we did not win was the battle of the allergic reaction to the flea bites. That’s why we’re sitting at Sadlack’s right now, weeping gently into my beer. Nobody’s been sleeping well this week, but it looked like the situation was rapidly improving until last night, when it rapidly devolved. Fletch was super cranky, and I took a peek at his belly, and was all, Oh. Saturday morning vet visit. You poor thing.
Fletch accidentally gave me a fat lip at the vet when they tried to take his temperature, and I was all NOT THE FACE, but it was too late. After the vet offered me an ice pack, she said maybe it was pollen, maybe it was an allergic reaction to last week’s flea bites, maybe some other allergy. This is the dawg who is already allergic to wheat. Who has a dawg who is allergic to wheat? She said this to the girl who recently had five years of allergy shots, whose last case of poison ivy lasted three months, whose last insect sting was the size of a salad plate, who can’t wear a watch because of the weird reaction. Dawg is SO me. There’s no denying it. He wasn’t even a redhead when I got him, he was tiny and yellow, but he grew into it, and now people snicker and say “your hair is exactly the same color, y’all totally match, did you know that?”
Anyway. Today we’re on three medications, and I figured a giant bone and Sadlack’s would cheer him up. The crazy dart players sharing the patio love him. He seems to feel better.
It’s been a stretch of the July doldrums, anyway. People are traveling, it’s work work work, I’m broke, it’s hot. There’s fun ahead. It’ll all be fine. We’re just not doing much. I’d rather have doldrums than drama, so that’s good. I’d rather have fun than doldrums though.
All our travel recently has been hyper-local, but that’s okay. Fletch woke me up at 5:45 one morning last week. I was disoriented, and couldn’t figure out why the sky was on fire, but then realized that sometimes sunrise is really, really colorful. And really, really early. We figured we might as well get up, and we went for a marathon walk before the sun came up all the way. It was cool and breezy, and when we got home everything was just turning early-morning gold. So we did it again every morning this week. Totally out of character, but hell. If you always do what you always did, you always get what you always got. I’ve been saying that a lot lately. We’re shaking things up, a little bit at a time.
We’ve been doing marathon walks every night, too. I was really balky and disgruntled about the FitBit my mother gave me a few weeks ago, since she only gave it to me as a decoy so she didn’t have to plug her fitness information into the computer in front of her IT guy. It’s basically a pedometer. I wasn’t that impressed, at first. I mean, it’s mauve. (Did you know “mauve” is supposed to rhyme with “drove?” I just learned that. Makes the color even worse. Ick. Sorry Mom. I hate mauve.)
Last weekend, though, when I had an alarmist reaction to my jeans not buttoning, I got the Fitbit back out. Turns out the jeans thing was a false alarm. I bought a new pair of jeans, the exact same size and style, and they fit fine. OLD NAVY JEANS SHRINK. Quite a lot. It’s real. I decided, all other things being equal, I’d rather be a size smaller anyway. So I read the instructions on the FitBit, and started plugging in everything I ate on my smartphone. You can tell it what your goal is, and it tells you all day long whether or not you are on track to meet it. It’s real. It counts every step. There’s no fooling yourself about how hard you’re working. So, we’ve been walking miles and miles, before dawn, and after dusk, and even back and forth to work a couple of times a day. Sometimes it’s seven miles, sometimes it’s nine miles. Downtown looks really different at sunrise. We’ve shaken up our route, and seen some things.
A few of us are collecting bottle caps for a big art project, so I started seeing those everywhere, too. It makes the morning walk feel a little bit like beachcombing.There were seven of them today. Oddly? The bottle cap bonanza was in a sleepy little block on Hillsborough, close to the Capitol. I thought for sure there would be a bunch out in front of Flying Saucer, and just knew that I’d find a treasure trove of them in the parking lot across from the law school. (I’m not making an attorney joke. But I’ve been to grad school. I mean, in design school, we just drank at our drawing boards, but I’m assuming attorneys at least wait until the parking lot.) Law school: zero evidence of alcohol consumption.
My favorite one was the first one I found, though, yesterday immediately after we’d decided to do the bottle cap art thing.
I haven’t picked a metaphor yet. Right now I’m just ready to ease out of July, and have a very pleasant and mostly quiet August, and then blow the effing roof off of this fall. Rest up. Enjoy your peaches and tomatoes and cicadas and languid, lazy afternoons for a few more weeks.
Then let’s have some real fun.