sorry, you’re too young for me and not my species…

…is what I said to the five-month-old puppy when he tried to mount me last night, as male puppies do.

What I’m trying to accept at the moment:

The dog love of my life, who died a couple of months ago, would have been 13 yesterday.

The dog I’ve got now is a “rebound dog,” and probably is better suited to a home with rambunctious boys than the three female humans he lives with.

I will probably always feel sad this time of year (Valentine’s Day, soon-to-be-ex-husband’s birthday, dog-love-of-life’s birthday).

My child: “Why does he ALWAYS want to play?” (she’s talking about the puppy). Me: “That’s what puppies are about: Eat, sleep, play. Eat, sleep, play. It’s their thing. Actually, that sounds like you, only with TV thrown in.” Child: “…”

I feel acutely both too big and strangely smaller than I used to be. My weight hasn’t changed, but my body seems different, somehow. Body, don’t go changin’. Well, if you’re trying to please me, I suppose that might be okay. But, please, don’t change the color of your hair! I have at least 4 distinct colors of hair happening at the moment, when what I would like is for my hair to match my eyes, hazel, warm brown and gold. Not impossible, but more time and money than I can afford at the moment, so gray, dark brown, white and copper at the ends will have to do. If I did color my hair, people would probably stop asking me and my sister which one of us is older… she is nearly a decade older than me. Why do I care? I’m the younger sister, dammit!

In other words, I’m trying to accept that my body is changing and aging. It’s going to happen, acceptance or no.

I have much more to say, but this will do for now.


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