Two Sad Dogs

My wrists can no longer support the weight of a milk jug, or of a heavy set grocery bag. There's pain when I turn doorknobs and when I try to drive with one hand. I had to ask for help opening a jar the other day. I've always been the one who likes to open jars, you see, I've always had pride in my strength. I've always been good at everything!?

I look over at Bentley sometimes when he's lying in bed next to me and think this is what he must have been going through for the past year, what a fucking blow. I wonder if his pain is as great as mine. Two sad dogs we are, our joints crack and pop at any movement and its gotten to a point of saddening debilitation. I feel as if no one gets it because well, I didn't. I knew we were getting old but I kind of always just braced for what it could do to my mind. I guess I've always unintentionally overlooked what it meant for your body to ache with age. I had set up my brain for the past 27 years now in a great position of knowing how to counterattack anxiety, heartbreak, but never had I prepared for what this pain could do, disgusting!

Regardless, I find comfort in being right on par with my dog. Bentley hurt himself last spring, when he was pulling me on a skateboard at full speed (something we had always done) but it was truly my fault for his injury. I was feeling lazy and didn't want to take him on a long walk, like he deserved. If only I wasn't so selfish!

My cousin, a vet, once said farmers get rid of horses and dogs when they get hurt because once a leg injury happens, they never heal correctly. Liability.

So yeah, I feel comfort in my discomfort because of course this was meant to happen. This is how I atone for my sins.

Last night I woke up to Bentleys' howling. He was sleeping and it came from whatever it was he was dreaming about. The sound was heartbreaking. His howl sad.

Song of the Week: Powerlines x RIZ LA VIE