We’re looking at a low of 3 degrees on Friday in the Boston area. When I took my dog for a walk today, my son told me the weather report said it was 10 degrees out “but it feels like 1 degree.” After that walk, I can attest to that.
A strange dog had gotten loose in our neighborhood (I happened to see the dog, his broken run, and the owners as they caught him) and had peed on all of Noshi’s favorite spots in our yard. Noshi was captivated by the scent. He’s at the dwarf evergreen: “Sniff, sniff…who is this? No one I know.” He’s at the light post: “Sniff, sniff…who is this? No one I know.” I have to drag him away from his proprietary spots that have been invaded and marked…by whom? He doesn’t want to stop sniffing: “Hold on! Who the fuck is this? And what the fuck is he doing peeing in my territory?”
I can’t say I had a lot of patience for his pondering these questions as various parts of my body started to lose feeling, starting at my exposed nose. There was not a lot of (what I would call unnecessary) sniffing allowed on the rest of the walk. Oh, what I would give for Noshi’s fur coat! He didn’t mind the cold at all. We definitely had a disagreement as to how quickly we should proceed around the circle.
My cat has a different attitude about the cold. When I open the door to let him out, he looks up at me and says, “Nuh-uh. Where the fuck is the litter box you use when you go on vacation?” (You’ll notice my pets are potty mouths. I don’t know where they get it from.) When he wants to come in, he likes for me to hold the door open for a long time, with the frigid air filling the room, and beg before he takes the first step into the house. That is getting a bit old this week.
In any case, I do have something to talk about today besides cold weather and my pets, even if I’m not at my eloquent best, for reasons I will not get into. A bit too much going on in the brain, shall we say.
If you read my essay Lemonade Stand, which has to rank up there as one of my favorites (that is what we call making lemonade), and you followed my relationship with Mr. S, who became Bob after we broke up, you know that I believe Mr. S/Bob is with his ex-wife. A few friends have questioned whether this is true. I have to say, I went through—and continue to go through—the same thought process, that it couldn’t be possible given what I know. But—and I do hope he has stopped reading The BetsyG-Spot, and am pretty sure he has—I confess I described the pictures that made me believe this over the phone to a friend and read each caption to her (I know, I am evil, don’t hate me) and we both just about peed our pants laughing at ourselves for thinking it could mean anything other than that. But honestly, I don’t know.
I guess the question that comes to mind is why do I care? Why am I even looking at his stuff (which is, of course, public, so no, I am not a stalker, and yes, that is debatable)? I don’t really know the answers. I think the end of that relationship left so many question marks, I keep thinking I might find the answer there. And, oddly, I am still interested in how he is doing, if all is well, because I liked him, even though things ended such that I do not care to speak to him again. (He made me the type of mad I don’t ever get over.) Or maybe I am just a curious kitten. I think he would agree that that, at least, is true.
I think I’ll make a more conscious effort to fergit about the whole thing, which if you know me at all or have been reading me for any length of time, you would know that is not likely to happen. Really, I’m actually not thinking about it much, relatively speaking.
Have a fabulous weekend (I’m finally seeing Milk, with The Wrestler and Slumdog Millionaire still in the queue), and keep warm, but stay cool. (I’m sorry, I don’t know where that bit of corn just came from.)