I said good-bye to my dog Simon
yesterday. I’ve been saying for the past year that particular day would be the
hardest part of this process and I hope I wasn’t wrong because man, yesterday sucked. I’ve had Simon for more than
five years, since he was just a puppy, and he is absolutely the love of my life
and the best dog in the world. I spent all of yesterday morning in tears, while
Simon leaned against my legs or crawled into my lap to lick my face and cuddle
against my neck. He’ll be living with TLC while I’m in London; she’s promised
to set up regular Skype dates for us. It’s not that I don’t think Simon isn’t
smart enough to work a laptop, but the lack of flexible digits or a thumb is a
hindrance to him.
I leave in 25 hours and the past
day has been constant realizations of stuff I should’ve done ages ago, but didn’t.
“FUCK,” I’ve screamed, jumping up from the dinner table, “I forgot to mend my
winter coat! I’ve known it’s needed repair since two winters ago; why didn’t I
do it then?” Man, past Liz is the worst. She probably decided to have a Doctor
Who marathon and let September 2012 Liz worry about the coat and the checkbook
balancing, and now September 2012 Liz thinks that past Liz is a fucking bitch.
I am finding this pressure
uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll go have a Doctor Who marathon and let future Liz deal
with a ripped coat. (I know future Liz well enough to suspect that she’ll be
tweeting in December about what a fucking bitch past Liz is.)
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