This morning we had an unexpected veterinarian crisis with Barkley, the pup. Rachel had to run him to the emergency place; blood work, anti-nausea medicine, hydration treatments, all of it. Some sort of hemorrhaging, which is never a good sign. It is troubling, the near total helplessness with which we are forced to sometimes contend.
On the other hand, I moved in to my new apartment yesterday. It is an odd, fine feeling. I hung my shaving kit on the towel rack in the bathroom and thought nothing at all of it. When I awoke I recognized the silliness of such a thing. I have a place from which to live more permanently for the first time in over a year. Perhaps in time I will forget how to live entirely out of a backpack.
Last night, I slept for six hours or more in two intervals, separated by a long period lying in bed watching an animated series (I can make my way through an entire series in two or three nights, usually). When I first awoke in the center of the night I didn't know where I was, a feeling to which I have become far too accustomed. The sleepy transition to an understanding that I was in my own place was deeply gratifying.
Then, I was giving the boy a ride to school this morning. We were approaching the moment when we would pull into the parking lot. This is a moment when he often starts to express some mild tension at the knowledge of soon being separated from either mommy or daddy.
I told him that I love him.
"Santa loves me too."
I know he does, buddy. I know he does.