be more like my dog

I am trying to be more like my dog these first few days after returning to Minneapolis.

I have a bad feeling hanging over me that is the torturous dead weight of jet lag coupled with the keen brain freeze of ambitious passion.

It's like my mind is screaming, "Hit the ground running! This is your time! Capitalize on what you've accomplished! Go go go! Do do do!"

It's also like my body is pleading, in slow motion, "Please, no more, I cannot move another inch. I hurt too much to even sleep. I am so over everything. I want to stay in bed forever."

The combination is excruciating existential malaise.

Or just plain yuck.

Whenever the feelings become too much these last few days I think about turning to the bottle but I know it would just make things worse, or "take to my bed but my dreams are a curse".

(The above is a passage from a song of mine called Survival Time.)

What is working is to play with my dog Aidan.

His attitude and philosophy are the best medicine.

He cares a lot about a few great things.

He likes to play with his toys, wrestle on the living room rug, go for long walks along the Mississippi.

He likes to eat good food.

He likes to be with his favorite people.

Okay, I like those things too.

I have decided that at least for the next few days until this transitional storm blows over, I am doing whatever he does.

Short of going to the bathroom outside,

I am leading the life of a dog.





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