maxwell silverhammer

On December 30th SeaBass and I brought this home

"This" is Mr. Maxwell Silverhammer,

We adopted him from our local SPCA as a Christmas present for Dziadzio (SeaBass' grandfather.) 

You see, Dziadzio has talked of nothing but having a puppy of his own ever since baby Dolan 

 

came along.

So, when the SPCA got a litter of Shepherd/Huskies right before Christmas it seemed perfect. The deal was that SeaBass and I would bring the puppy home with us for a little bit to take care of the potty training and some basic obedience and then Dziadzio would have his very own furry companion.

And he would stop feeding Dolan forbidden treats, letting her off her leash thinking it's funny to watch her run away and generally corrupting and wreaking havoc with my puppy.

Many who heard this plan laughed at me and insisted that I would not be able to give Max up.

It's true that I have a serious soft spot for animals. 

That's probably an understatement.

When I go on vacation to resorts I end up with all the feral cats on the grounds waiting for me outside my room and hiding under my table in the restaurants.

I feed the neighbourhood raccoons.....from my hand.

If someone tells me a dog is mean I take it as a personal challenge to befriend the animal.

All that being said, I was totally prepared to give Mr. Maxwell Silverhammer up to Dziadzio. I'm not saying it was going to be easy but I had already talked myself through it, reminding myself that I would see him often.

Also, I may adore animals in general and dogs in specific. But I am not insane. And the facts of the house I live in are this:

We already have the aforementioned bestest doggie-pants in the world, Dolan

and
Sugar

and

Ringo and Wheels

And Roxy (who is feeling a little camera shy)

Oh, and did I mention that my neighbour recently sort of abandoned her cat and so now he lives here? 

Ironically, his name is AWOL. 

So yeah, the idea of a third large dog in the house was less than appealing, even to me.

Fate has intervened though. Fate in the form of SeaBass' meanie-pants grandmother and aunt who have apparently decided that Dziadzio is not "allowed" to have a puppy.

You would think they could have decided that before this happened.

31

One week ago I turned 31. Now, I typically enjoy birthdays. I enjoy presents, love cake and as a kid I was the type who couldn't wait to turn a year older in order to reach the next pinnacle of maturity. Even turning 30 felt great. I couldn't wait to say good-bye to my 20s, a decade that was already mostly lost to substance induced haze anyways.

But 31, um well, it has knocked me on my ass and I have yet to pick myself back up.

30 for some reason felt safe. 31 feels like something major has changed. Or maybe more correctly, it feels like something SHOULD change and I just can't seem to figure out what or how to make said change, or to do any of this fast enough to solve this looming crisis of identity.

31 feels like grown up is no longer something to achieve, something awaiting me around the next bend...IT'S HERE! And now I can't find a rock big enough to hide under.

I feel a little like Mr. Wheels here looks,


like reality has just awoken me from a wonderful sun soaked nap and I am super unsure about what the hell is going on here in the real world.

People keep saying things to me that include words like "marriage" and "children". These are things I was sure I had all the time in the world to consider. Now apparently my proverbial clock should be ticking.

Perhaps I've already lost my hearing due to old age but I can't hear any ticking anywhere.

There's so much I want to do before all this stuff people are yammering about but now it feels like the pressure is growing to the point of overwhelming. The more pressure I feel the more likely I am to run and hide. Of course there's also the reality that overwhelming pressure is what won me a breakdown in the first place.

So now I feel more like this,

Screaming at myself in my reflection and still I can't decipher a damn thing.