A Very Smart Dog: Day 20

A Very Smart Dog: Day 20

I don’t know how many people out of the 162 or so in this group are actually contributing articles every day. There is a limitation on how many scrolls one can engage in on the feed. A point when the hateful itch of wasted time grabs the hair on my neck and tugs. I don’t know why any of you are doing this at all. I can’t imagine any of us turning in our best work or being all that proud of a single one of these articles. It’s not about each one. This is you vs you and me vs me. I just know that doing something is always better than doing nothing.

We’ve all said we’re going to do a great many things, especially in the beginning. But the dreams are too far above reality and when reality bites it takes the dreams away for good.

It’s always worth it to get up and grab a blanket if you’re laying on the couch. You can try to cover your feet and legs with throw pillows and convince yourself that it’s comfortable enough but the release only comes when you get the blanket. If you’re feeling over the moon then grab a pillow from your bed as well. Then the head will dissolve and the smile will come from the heart.

I don’t buy garlic or shallots when I’m cooking for myself. I don’t care enough. But it’s always worth it when they are in the food.

It’s not like we just wake up happy. It’s more like we have to make it. With garlic and onions and blankets. With the nine hundred and fifty decisions per day to short ourselves the experience because the effort seems too great. And replacing all of those no’s with yes’s so that momentum is behind us and murky water is no longer hanging above our heads.

I used to tell myself to think like a dog. If a dog is hungry it eats. If it sees a ball it chases it. When I’m hungry I think I’m hungry, but I don’t know what I want to eat, and I’m not really sure what I feel like making. I could go grab food. I spend too much fucking money on eating out. It’s so much effort to cook. I hate cooking for myself. Wah. I can’t eat rice and chicken again. I don’t have salsa. There are no snacks. Maybe I’ll just have cereal for dinner.

All my decisions are prefaced with dialogue like this. And for the smartest species on Earth I feel pretty fucking stupid. Maybe not stupid, but confused and overwhelmed for certain.

Except when I’m on and I don’t think so much. I just make the food and I grab the blanket and I know that everything is something I have to make myself and once I’ve made enough things in a row I can rest for a second and let the momentum carry me through the next few decisions before I’m stuck again.

This is the best it gets. Creating energy. Making happiness. Realizing it. Reveling. Watching it slip, not without trying to clench it first. And then getting back to it.

The best we can ever do.

Which is either awfully depressing or a great relief. I side with depressing, because I have a depressive personality. But on the good days I am happy. Because my legs work and my nose works and it’s very easy to move around and do the 9 or so things that are on my list every day. And I do know for certain that no matter how many times I’ve crossed a thing off a list it always feels like a great accomplishment. Because it’s hard for all of us. Doing things is hard. Work is hard. And hating ourselves is easy. But doing things and doing work makes hating ourselves harder because there is an inherent sense of pride there.

I don’t care what I do each day, as long as I do something. As long as I do what I said I was going to do. Then I am moving forward. Then I don’t hate myself and I can be like a very smart dog.

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