I Wish I Cared
I’ve lost my way.
I’m not writing.
I’m working – huge deadline coming up two months sooner than I expected. I’m eating…ish. I’m walking and lifting just to do SOMETHING with my time. I read a little. I try to sleep a lot. Mostly, I stare off into space, when I’m not Wookie-cry-face.
For those of you thinking, “Jeez, Edie, snap out of it. Your dog died. Get over it,” FUCK YOU.
My dog died. That’s an accurate statement. He was also my baby. He was the reason I got out of bed each morning for fourteen-and-a-half years. He was the reason for most of our daily routines around the house. He was my reason for cherishing each moment, knowing one day he would be gone.
Pets don’t live forever. I know. Some would say I get too attached. No, I don’t. I love fully and completely any creature that loves me back unconditionally. I annoyed the shit out of my dog, but I know he loved me, and I love him. That’s more than I can say about most people.
Grief is not a steady process for me. I’m all over the place, pinging between stages like a sad, angry, bargaining pinball.
I will write again, I promise. Right now, it’s low on my priority list.
I wish I cared.