I wanted to get involved, but nothing constructive was happening. I’d be like, Hey, we need to have some goals, talk about the banks’ gross misconduct, hold people accountable, that sort of thing. But everybody involved was only interested in drugs. They wouldn’t listen to me because they were busy toking up, or talking about legalizing the doob. Bunch of unmotivated potheads. I was frustrated by their lackadaisical attitude.
I often pretend I can see past the end of this life and into the next one. This is especially easy to fall into now that I am once again the caretaker for Steph’s dog, Polly. It is the afterlife and Polly and I are talking. We are both souls. It was pure coincidence that I ended up the human and Polly was the dog. Could have just as easily been the other way around.
I imagine Polly saying things like this to me: I was bored out of my mind. We had the sort of bond that you knew that. I conveyed that to you just as surely as if I could talk. You knew that I was a strong dog, that I had as much personal strength as many weak humans. You really couldn’t find anything better for me to do? And I would say something like: Polly, I had to work. I had to make money to keep you in dog food and chew sticks. It was a very rare day that I didn’t take you for a walk, fill your Kong ball, throw treats across the house for you to run after, or take you on a trip to Petco, where you could drag me around excitedly, smelling the dog food and ogling the mice. You might have been bored a lot of the time, but you were well-fed, warm, and never without companionship. And I saved you from that horrible situation you were in before, at great personal expense. I was doing the best I could. Then Polly would say: Hrmph, I can’t wait until next time, when I am the human and you are the dog.
There is a new chapter in my long, LONG history of digging up people from the past. A guy I used to know in Miami, who has since moved to Los Angeles. Steph and I were talking about him on Thanksgiving, so I made an umpteenth attempt to dig him up on the ’tubes, and finally succeeded. This one is particularly good, because the reason we got out of touch was my fault. I can apologize for that stuff now and we can move past it. We already have, actually. He owes me a thousand bucks, but I am not particularly angry about it. I wouldn’t loan him any more money, that’s for sure. But I’m not going to let it become a sticking point. I enjoy talking to him. He is the same guy I used to know a decade ago.
I should write more about my job, but I’m tired. It is taking a lot out of me. There’s plenty of good stuff, for sure. I took off two hours this afternoon, mostly so I could help Steph with various situations. Couldn’t do that if I had an office job. I should write more later.