Rhinoceros Running

It is cold and gray today, a perfect time to stay inside and read.

A couple months ago, I replaced my couch and chair with my neighbor’s lighter-colored furniture. He was starting over in San Francisco, and taking nothing with him. I loved his living room, and mistakenly believed that it would be just as beautiful in my apartment. He has a sense of style I don’t. This doesn’t look bad at all, but it’s not the same. And it’s still better than the large, heavy furniture I did have. This apartment is too small for big heavy pieces of wood.

The only thing I somewhat regret is that this new couch is shorter, while neither my dog nor I have become smaller. We are crammed on here together, with her legs dangling off the edge. I really like this time with her, though, so I’m reluctant to toss her off the couch. It’s like quiet-sleeping-with-my-pack time. Later, it’s bring-a-saliva-covered-toy-to-my-packmate-with-the-thumbs time, and I will be expected to toss it into the hallway for her retrieving pleasure.

It is moments like this that I remember Ben, the first dog. Their personalities were quite different. Right now, I am resting leg alongside Ruby, and while Ben was keen to nap on the couch, he did not appreciate being touched by my lower extremities. To do so would often elicit a grump. And he never fetched. Not even once. Ben was not entirely a dog, at least not in his mind. He most often looked at me as though I was the crazy lady he was charged with watching over. This was especially evident when I expected some dog-like behavior, like fetching. He would watch the trajectory of whatever I was throwing with little interest, then look at me, as if to say, “And . . . ?” 

She’s enormous. I’m struck by this sometimes, how big she is. Ben was also large, but he had short hair, without a bushy undercoat, so when he laid down, it was often in a tight little circle. Ruby seems to have several coats of fur, not including the copious amounts on the floor, and I think she spreads out because it gets a little warm. Right now, I’m pretty sure she’s not really comfortable. She wants to spread out a bit more, but there isn’t any more room. She sometimes resorts to resting her head on the arm of the couch, which is very awkward looking because the arm is somewhat high. Poor giant beast.

 ∞

I’ve been pouring over booklists and reading challenge sites for the past few days, as well as finishing my 101 things to accomplish list. Developing these reading lists is like creating a syllabus, and I’m really enjoying it. I have identified nine reading challenges which should keep me on top of my goal of one book per week.

Can I be catty for just one second? Thanks. I can’t believe I’m accepting a reading challenge from someone who watches soap operas religiously. I had to get that out of my system.

What I find most discouraging about these days is that I have lots of time to do anything I want, but I really don’t want to leave the apartment. I should be doing sprint workouts, logging distance miles, working on my goal of doing a freakish number of push-ups all at once, reading a book a day . . .

Or at the very least, taking the world’s best German Shepherd for a well-deserved long walk. I feel guiltiest about shortchanging her. So tonight I rallied and we went further. She is clearly more comfortable in the cold weather.

It is snowing steadily; everything is covered by a nice layer of snow, which covers the grime, dirty and grey inherent to this time of year. As we walk down the street, I admire the houses we pass, admiring what I see through their front windows. Lit windows always look inviting on cold winter nights, before the holidays have really set in and lost their allure. There is still the possibility of happy holidays.

And, of course, newly single as I am, I walk past these houses and feel a sense of wonder: how do people find each other in this world? I know some of these people only have a shiny, happy exterior. What’s the divorce rate? Over 50%? So let’s says half these houses have unhappy residents, couples who brace themselves before walking in the door each evening for another several hours of barely tolerating each other. Couples who endure for the kids, or their financial situation, or out of fear of loneliness.

But lots of houses shelter happiness, couples who still genuinely want to come home to one another, people who want to hang out with their kids, families eating dinner together.

I spent many years proving that I am very capable of total independence. I’ve proved that. I don’t need something specific from a partner, like financial assistance or entertainment. I just miss that human interaction. Specifically, I miss my ex’s sense of humor; he was kind of dry generally, and I found it hysterical. I miss his general presence. When I came home the other night, I missed knowing that someone cared whether I made it home or not.  Of course, the dog cares deeply, but without opposable thumbs, she is powerless to alert anyone else to my absence.

∞ 

When I was growing up, we had a mutt named Lucy. She was some kind of malamute mix, and a great dog. She had a more reserved personality, you know, not effusive and adoring, like a golden retriever.

For some reason, most likely based on a combination of sale price and coupons, my parents brought home a bag of dog food called Tender Chops. The kibble was shaped like little, moist t-bone steaks. It was aesthetically very pleasing, red and white. And Lucy loved it. She begged for it, harassed my father for it, and this was easily the most effusive behavior she demonstrated her whole life.

Lucy passed on the summer before I left for college, almost 20 years ago, and almost immediately we renamed her Saint Lucy (probably because the dog they selected three days later was a rather decidedly bad dog). As a family, we still laugh about Lucy and the Tender Chops.

Several months ago, the former BF brought over some dog treats; they were these dried chicken strips, and it is no surprise that Ruby is very fond of them, to the extent that I think we’re having a Tender Chops moment. It’s a little harder to tell because German Shepherds are generally more talkative, but now that we spend so much time together, she wants something unsatisfied by attention, toys, ear scratches, trips outdoors.

Oh, I also have to keep the bags of these things on top of the fridge; she helps herself if left on the counter top or the table. (She’s large.)

Here she is again. I need to go engage in our evening ritual of exhausting all other possibilities before I relent and fork over the chicken strips.

The boyfriend (now ex-boyfriend) and I talked tonight. We started talking about the final argument, which at first seemed like a pointless rehashing, but led to a productive conversation. I had this idea that we were breaking up because of a stupid argument, something ridiculous and fixable. The real issue though, is that when he is being honest with himself, he does not feel like we are a long-term match. He didn’t want to get married, then want out later. And I don’t want that either.

I cannot describe how much better I feel. I feel like there is closure because I know the truth. I didn’t destroy a perfectly good relationship because I was too stubborn to say I’m sorry first, or do all that I could do to make a wrong right. To not have that indescribable feeling that you’re with “the one”–that’s unfixable. You have it, or you don’t. And I think you need that bit of unprobable optimism when you commit to someone.

I thanked him for telling me the truth, which actually seemed to confuse him. I am not lying when I say that knowing the truth is the best-case scenario. I feel like I can move on. I understand why we broke up, why we won’t work out. I’m not angry, and the sadness will pass. I really want to be with someone who really wants to be with me, which is what I believe we all really want.