Monday, August 16, 2004

I Miss My Dog

My Squirrel is gone. My parents picked him up on Saturday to take home with them, to acclimate him to a new house, then they are going to try to find him a new home. The only way I could hand him over was convincing myself that he's just "on vacation" with my parents. They promised to keep him for some time before even attempting to find him a new home. Just in case I changed my mind, which I have done about twenty times so far. Who knew you could get so attached to a 6 pound chihuahua? I really miss him. I've been sad and mopey all weekend, wandering around the house. Last night, I cried in the shower.

Sugar is gone, too, but I haven't felt sad at all about her departure. She went to a great family with five kids. She loved them immediately and jumped right in their car, eager to go wherever they were taking her.

But Squirrel...I feel a bit like my heart is broken.

In other news, I think my morning sickness is abating. Yesterday, I woke up and it was 11am before I realized that I felt...well, nothing. I felt sorta normal. This morning, same thing. I even ate a peanut butter toast. I guess morning sickness has been replaced by shiny, full hair (which is fine by me) and pimples (not so fine by me.) I was in the car yesterday, examining my face in the mirror and said, "I have pimples." Jason said, "Yeah, I noticed." He is a male who has not yet learned courtesy lying. Men, you are not supposed to say, "Yeah, I noticed." You are supposed to say, "Really? I hadn't noticed." We both know full well the pimples are there, but you could at least give us the satisfaction of pretending they aren't.

And unfortunately, I have developed another nasty case of Olympics Fever. I swear, this happens to me every freakin' two years, and each time, I swear to myself that I won't let the obsession overtake me. It's very strange, because I hate sports. But when that Olympics music comes on every couple of years, winter or summer, I am hooked. Last night, Jason got between myself and the television. "Move!" I cried, "200 METER FREESTYLE! MICHAEL PHELPS!" Like I even knew who Michael Phelps was two days prior to today, much less what a 200 Meter Freestyle was. But it happens to me every time.

The only Olympics that I completely missed was Atlanta in 1996. I was working as a counselor at a camp, so I was cut off from the outside world. (My sister watched every last minute of it, though. Even badmitton. She had her wisdom teeth removed and sat in front of the television, drugged up, for about a week.) One morning, though, our camp director dragged the entire camp out of bed and parked us sleepily in the chapel. "You have got to see this!" he said, and popped in a tape of the famous Kerri Struggs stick landing. So the rest of the week, I got to watch a hundred campers jump off of various trashcans, grab their ankles and feign agony.


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