Baby Music

[phetish]

This was almost the highlight of my morning.
I should thank Anthony for fixing my laptop.

Once, I bought my boyfriend a dog for Christmas.
"Live gift" stories never end well, even in the least interesting of lives.
Now, I hate boyfriends, dogs, and presents.

I adopted a rescue, because that's what you do.
Never considered the risks. What risks?
There are as many "good" pets in shelters as there are "good" houses available for a fraction of the market price.
Everybody knows one sociopath with no friends, no dates - because nobody wants them, because they're crazy, ugly, seriously damaged, and possibly dangerous.
THESE ARE THOSE PEOPLE'S PETS, and they inherited their owners' souls.



Not that this should (or does) stop you (or me) from adopting them anyway.
Crazy always makes for better stories.
Besides - even in the worst case scenario, what's a six-pound animal really going to do?
Famous last words of a cat person going to get a dog.

I adopted a boxer that only spoke German.
Tragically, his former master taught him German by tasing the shit out of him whenever he failed to follow a command.
I thought he'd respond to warmth and kindness.
He did. He ate my left hand.
He wasn't a dog. He was Jason, sans machete.

To make a long story short, and to pile lunacy onto this insanity sundae like so many meth sprinkles:
- I was young enough to live with my mother in an apartment building (no dogs allowed).
- Our Indian neighbors had confronted us with the belief that our cats (Chaos and Tabby) were raping them in their sleep while feasting on their souls, so they would have been thrilled if we were asked to move.
- My mother was warring with our other neighbor, an ancient Italian Catholic who either dabbled in voodoo or genuinely believed Pizza Topped With Bones was a delicacy. She kept leaving them outside our door, like she was slowly building a cheesy-bread golem.
- The next-nearest neighbors thought we were serial killers, and we left it alone because it was easier to let them live in abject terror than to try to prove otherwise. I'd just put some flowers next to the cheesy-bread golem and wave.

So. Dog had to be quiet.
You might think, with that much crazy, that you could get away with anything - but it was just the opposite. It was like living beneath an old fireworks factory; the smallest flame could cause a massive explosion.
Which meant I had to stay (and yes, sleep) on the kitchen floor for three days, chained to this dog.

I remember staring at this ugly mongrel at 4:00am.
I didn't feel anything, because I was too tired to feel anymore.
I just remember, sitting cross-legged, staring at this dog.

Whenever it's 4:00am and my son can't sleep, when I find myself sitting beside his crib, I feel my younger self super-imposed like some sort of transdimensional ghost. Or maybe it's deja vu.
The feeling is so real. I can feel my body in present time, but if I close my eyes, I can see my old apartment.
OH MY GOD I'M ASLEEP. WAKE UP! WAKE UP!

The Wiggles are playing on my old iPhone.
I never set the playlist to "repeat" because I don't want to get into the habit of falling asleep to The Wiggles, for fear that subliminal suggestion will set in while I sleep and I'll wake up with the irrepressible urge to kill chefs.

The song is "Zebra," which, as the list is alphabetized, is the last track.
I'm too tired to get up and reset it.
Then it hits me; I can make an internet playlist that I can play anywhere.

And I can share it with you.

Music

I hope that helps. Honestly, these all-nighters are the hardest thing about parenting.