Tag: dog

45. Is that all I miss?

Some days I find I’m nearly through to the other end before I’ve had time to think. I doubt that I’m alone in that feeling. It’s a little like that moment when you’re driving and you come to a point when you don’t entirely remember all the journey, and have to trust your driving even when you can’t recall it.

I’m finding that some of my days can be a bit like that. Not bad days, but filled with the usual things – dog walk; breakfast; go to work; home; eat; bit of crap on telly; bed – that I’m functioning perfectly well. But is that enough?

I have so many advantages – healthy, solvent and housed. I still have good friends, and a good laugh when I see them.

But there is a small voice that’s just started muttering. It’s quite and infrequent. But it can still be heard.

“Is this it?”

I don’t want to hear it. But it’s hard to shut it up without a burst of activity. And I’m tired. There seems to be a constant stream of things to do, and, unsurprisingly, only me to do them.

Is that all I miss? The presence of someone to help out? Fill in the gaps when I’m feeling weary? To let me have the occasional lie in when I don’t want to take the dog out or cook something for when I get home?

But then, watching a bit of hilarity before bedtime with the dog hogging most of the sofa I realise that it’s still better to have things that are missing, with the hope that one day I can find ways of filling them. Better than having those ‘gaps’ being filled by someone who doesn’t want to.

It’s hard being on your own sometimes. But it’s much harder when you’re with someone and you feel like you’re on your own. I must remember that now that things don’t hurt so much anymore. An early morning dog walk is a small price to pay. And she very much wants to help.

34. The confusion between what I want and what I have.

I’m in bed with the cat.

I hasten to add that it’s my bed, although I often feel he thinks otherwise, but that’s cats for you. But the point is that I am trying to actively enjoy a peaceful and relaxing lie-in, just like the cat does, constantly. I’m trying to be more cat.

Lovely breakfast in bed – in spite of a quick trip to the shop to go and get the necessary ingredients. Jobs on the ‘to-do’ list waiting patiently. No one in the flat asking anything of me. More importantly, the dog is at her dad’s.

And that’s where the confusion between what I want and what I have lies. Some days I don’t want to walk the dog. I have no choice if she’s here but the thought of it when its raining, or I’ve slept badly, or I just not in the mood, is such a chore.

But I miss her.

She’s been my constant motivation to get up and do. She lies outside the bedroom door huffing if there’s the slightest suggestion you’re awake but not letting her say hello. She’s the energy you get bounced at you first thing in the morning, the excitement of a walk showing on her face and in her tail. She is the yang to the cat’s yin.

Will I get used to the weekends I don’t have her? Most probably. But it’s another lesson to learn in this new school of life. He and I used to share weekend walks, and usually Sundays were big walks somewhere different. A drive out to Wimbledon or Richmond. A look at the map to try out somewhere we hadn’t been before. Even a quick jaunt to Streatham Common changed the routine. We’d chat and share things that didn’t get discussed at home, all the time throwing sticks and watching her stalk crows or chase squirrels. Walking and talking go together well.

So now I have to get used to some weekends with no walk at all. I remember days when that seemed like a dream. That bliss when the offer of ‘I’ll walk the dog’ was uttered. Now it’s going to be all or nothing. I’ll always know if it’s my turn. No surprise treats.

But this time it’s a whole weekend of chilling like a cat. I’ll work on my purring.

28. I could pack for holiday using the bags under my eyes.

There a few things that, if at all possible, are really helpful to remember when you are feeling broken and hollow.

One is that All Things Change. Much like ‘This too shall pass’ and ‘tomorrow is another day’ it’s a helpful, if a little smug, reminder that what ever you feel today will be different in the morning. There is the possibility, of course, that you’ll feel worse, but you won’t feel worse forever. Limited comfort when you find yourself sobbing on the floor of your best friends bathroom at four in the morning, but doesn’t make it any less true.

Another helpful tip is ‘stay away from mirrors’. Quite frankly I hardly recognise myself. I could pack for holiday using the bags under my eyes, and I look like I’ve put my makeup on upside down. Lack of sleep is taking its toll on my face. Great! Just what I need. But, based on the facts of the last paragraph, it’ll hopefully go from suitcases to handbags to purses and back to me. Just hope it doesn’t take too long.

But my last pearl of wisdom is ‘be thankful for those that love you’. Yesterday I came to Derbyshire with the dog to be away when he returns from his walk to pack up and leave. I’m in the home of my dearest, best and oldest friend. I feel safe and comforted. Her husband makes me laugh and cry in equal measures with hugs and jokes and honesty. Even the dog has her best doggy friend to play with. I think I can breath a bit here. I’ve been holding things together for quite some time, rather well I think. But now I’m somewhere I can let go. Not all in one go, For fear if being too much of a mess on the floor, but it’s a start.

And for all my wonderful, loving and kind friends I am so very grateful. A small message here, an suggestion of a dog-walk there are kindnesses that remind me I am loved. By people who know me and choose to do so as a result of that. Which when you’re feeling a bit abandoned is the handle to help you stand up again.

23. It hasn’t been ‘just me’ for years. 

There’s a calm about the flat. I don’t know why exactly, but it’s welcome and it is most definitely needed. It seems as if the boat has stopped rocking and we can now see the horizon. We are of course looking in different directions.

It’s a strange feeling to know that you have you’re whole future ahead of you and you are now responsible for making it happen. I remember having moments in the past when I’ve been excited about all the possibilities that lie ahead. But over the years together the plans, as they do when you’re part of a family, involve considering other people and other things.

But now it’s different.

It’s a bit scary, but actually, over the past couple of days, it’s starting to feel a little bit exciting. And it’s due, in part, to the fact that the issue of the dog’s ‘custody’ is now settled and was a very easy and painless conversation to have and resolve. She will now spend every other weekend at his new home. For all her skittish and quirky behaviour – and she’s a good dog, if a bit neurotic – he’ll just have to make it work. They’ll both have to get used to it. She’ll live with me in the week, although extra dog walks he can fit in during this time have been offered and will be welcome when I’m working.

But suddenly I am being presented with the possibility of weekends with no responsibilities. No restrictions on my time, or where I need to be. The daughter can, and does, sort out herself, and is often so busy living her life that I don’t see her much. So it’ll be just me.

It hasn’t been ‘just me’ for years. 

I’m going to be broke, so some restrictions obviously apply. But I’ve got an amazing city on my doorstep where there is so much to do for free. I’m well. I’m able-bodied. I’ve got friends I can borrow membership cards from. I love walking. I will turn this to an advantage. I am so very very lucky.

That’s how I have to see this. And it’s not a bad thing to be forced to do. Appreciate my privileged position, and pick all the good things I can out of what could be a pile of crap.

Who would have thought that sorting out doggie custody would be the shining light in the dark!

15. So now I have to pick my anger apart. 

Fridays are always my turn to do the early dog walk. Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays have always been mine since he gave up teaching totally and those are his yoga instructor days. I’ll have to get used to every day is early dog walk day – but that’s hardly the worse thing in the world.

Back to today, and it’s wet and windy. Lovely. You can never take a brolly on a dog walk but it would be nice if my hood stayed up.  I’m walking around Brockwell Park. It’s one of South London’s delights, lots to see and do, beautiful spaces and great views – well, not today obviously. And as I stomp around throwing a tennis ball for an increasingly muddy  dog I suddenly get cross. About an discussion I’m having in my head with the soon to be ex. I’m holding both sides of course ( don’t pretend you don’t do this! ) and his (?!) request is really making me cross. I know it’s not real. But it’s there all the same.

So now I have to pick my anger apart. 

He moves out between Christmas and new year. I don’t want to be here for it. I’ve decided to go up north with the dog for a few days, and especially over New Year’s Eve. I haven’t told him that. I am taking the car – it’s mine anyway as he can’t, and very much won’t, drive. But my anger is that I’m convinced he’ll expect me to help.

There is so much he hasn’t considered, let alone slightly planned for. He’s happy to be going, I can tell. I would imagine that he is trying to keep a lid on it. But how head-in-the-clouds can you be? Does he still expect others to be the grown-ups for him? has he even thought about the logistics, what he’s going to take, what he’ll need? What he’s going to pack it in?

I have. I’ve worked out what bedding he can have so we both have an equal amount of new stuff to get. I know we have plenty of cutlery, china, mugs to share out. I’m thinking about the pots I really like that I’ve bought over the years and which ones I’ll grudgingly part with. I look at the shelves of books and look forward to most of them going. I see virtually a wall full of vinyl going with the stereo. I have walls of pictures – I’ve taken so many over the years – and I don’t mind what he takes, I really don’t. I’ll happily help him pack.

I just don’t want to help him leave.

10. It helps to have a dog

There have been some mornings when we are both up and about at the same time, getting ready for a day of whatever. Some of the mornings are delicate. Both of us are under-slept and heavy from a restless night. There is a light covering of eggshells around which to negotiate. To be nice, but avoid anything deep – because the other one is no longer there to help with the fog of a morning. We tip toe around.

This is when it helps to have a dog.

I appreciate that this is not an option for all. It comes with complications – not least of all the soon to be shared ownership. It certainly comes with expense which may well be part of the up and coming discussions.

But as an ice breaker there is no finer creature to have about. Daft on a fairly permanent level she has a special energy in the morning born of the assumption that playing with her is, clearly, the most fabulous way to start the day. Toys are brought, beds are bounced on, licks are handed out freely.  And she’s right, it does help. She makes you laugh. She makes you shout when a hearty nudge from a big wet nose makes you spill your coffee. She wags you into positivity whether you wanted it or not.

And there’s the walking – regardless of mood, tension or weather. That really helps. After five minutes of being forced out of the house you know it was a good idea.

She was right again.

So borrow one if you can. Because they don’t take sides. They don’t judge the relationship. They’re better than having children around for quenching an argument with their big brown eyes and their flat ears.

And they are all a very good size for a hug,