Charlywalker's Blog











{January 21, 2010}   Blog’s Best Friend

I have decided to give up. If someone out there would like to talk me out of it feel free. I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to better my life financially and getting kicked in the head while doing it. I think I’ll just move to Italy with my dog and we can both sit and stare endlessly at the beautiful scenery. I will be sipping a lovely Chianti from an unknown region and he will be gnawing on left over Oso-Buco.  I will be alone with my dog  under the Tuscan sun. Many women my age have repeatedly mentioned that they are afraid to be alone. They are afraid that they will lose their loved one and be left out in the cold. Alone. Not if you have a dog. A dog can replace anybody. They don’t sass you and criticize the dinner menu. They don’t slam doors in your face or leave their room in a state of  havoc.  They don’t wine about their acne after you have spent countless dollars on a Pro active solution.  They don’t lose their car keys or misplace their wallet. They don’t have college friends over on a school night  until three in the morning eating potato chips and slurping sodas. They don’t throw the soda cans into the regular garbage instead of the recycle. They just jump into the garbage and retrieve.

I think dog’s are irreplaceable , husbands can be replaced or become extinct. I didn’t realize that becoming the matriarch of the family I took on total responsibily for everything.  I am suppose to be the gatekeeper, chauffeur, laundry lady, accountant, mediator, house cleaner, ATM, cook (?) and the World’s problem solver. Oh, and dream interpreter.  I have days where I want to bask in the silence of the house filled with endless sighs from my puppy. Even Charly’s had enough. Although sometimes too much quiet is not a good thing. My husband has been traveling for the last two weeks and I have been raising doggie solo. I did take for granted the fact that my husband was the early riser and did the six a.m. poop patrol. He also manages to rouse my teenage zombie from his bed and get him off to school and make me a heaping cappuccino at the same time. I stand corrected. Husbands are a necessity, but can still be replaced by a live in maid. Now that I am solo for the last couple of weeks I do miss the help ,which at times I found intrusive. The children are gone all day and it’s me and Charly alone in 4400 square feet of emptiness. I found myself talking to him more and more. I forgo the one word commands and actually hold lengthy conversations with him. He’s a great listener. He should be, his ears are big enough. The one thing that has me concerned is the fact that I seem to be constantly mumbling to Charly. I disclose lot’s of information to him because I know it won’t go any farther. I move about from room to room picking up leftovers from my children’s daily pandemonium and in doing so I ramble on to my dog with my chief complaints. I think he hears so much from me that one day I actually thought I saw a speech balloon pop up from his bobble head with a sarcastic retort.

I guess being alone is the abyss. I understand why some people end up shuffling down to the mailbox in their New & Lingwood regal Red slippers muttering stock quotes. It could be worse: Muttering to a mutt in your five inch Marabou’s while he explores an acre to mark his spot.   It’s O.K. They have a Peep-Toe…

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