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It’s all going to be dog-walking from here on in. Until Ian Stereophonic writes another song.
My dire warning of what my life will be like if my wife ever realises what a terrible mistake she has made continues. I was woken at 6.30 by the dog on the bed licking my face. Knowing that if I really was a divorced man living in a flat that this would be the only physical affection I ever got and that I would come to love it and expect it.
And having been dragged out of bed I had to go out into the cold morning because my new wife needed to piss and shit outside. I had never appreciated how lucky I was to have a wife who could take care of her own toilet arrangements. What I like about being a dog walker is who you interact with other dog walkers. For nearly everyone who has a dog, you having a dog is enough of a connection to mean you have to stop for a chat. Which is OK as far as it goes, except that I hate humanity and don’t like interacting with strangers. But luckily as a dog owner you give up your own ego and identity and it is all about the dog. Your dogs say hello to each other and then the dog owners ask questions about the dogs (what breed, how old etc) and then possibly ask the name of the dog and tell you the name of their dog. You never introduce yourselves or give any personal information that is not dog-related. It’s worse than being a parent, where at least occasionally other parents seek solace in talking to another adult and will slag their kids off. The dog owner is such a slave to the dog that their identity is consumed by the dog, just like so much horse shit.
It’s sort of tragic, but it help marks out the slow drift towards irrelevance that comes with age. Soon I shall forget that I was ever an individual, I may not even be able to remember my name. I am just Wolfie’s human.
I had planned to do some work this afternoon as aside from a rambunctious dog, I had no other responsibilities, but unsurprisingly perhaps tiredness overwhelmed me and I just played video games and thought about going back to sleep. In a way I enjoyed the solitude and the chance to do fuck all. This has been an insane year and I have scarcely had a second where work or family was not playing tug of war with me. And I finished the third draft of the second script of “Everything Happens†yesterday, so that should have been reason enough to decide it was OK to lose myself in a pointless game of Civilisation II.
But I missed my girls and drove over to pick up Catie from the station after a trip into the scary city and then do Phoebe’s night time stuff.
I would be allowed that kind of visit if this was a real trial separation rather than a trial one, of course. Then I came back home and ate a ready meal and drank a beer. I left my beer glass on the table and Wolfie started drinking it. Which sort of summed up where I was in this pretend Universe of despair. Drinking a beer with a dog and having nothing else. I thought about finishing the beer too, even though my dog’s horse-shit/dead frog coated tongue has been in it. If I was really laid so low then I think I might have drunk it.
I am very keen to get into our house and get back to normal life. My wife isn’t going to believe how nice I am going to be to her.
