What I Want to Be

Why am I still awake? That’s a good question. I don’t know. I just haven’t felt like going to bed. I read the newest issue of the New Statesman and then a bit of today’s The Guardian and the Observer (all UK). I may not bother with bed at this point. I’ll likely wake up in a bit over an hour anyway, as usual. George used to (and still does at times) wake me up around 3:30 or four each morning for breakfast and a trip outside. Now, I just get up.

I have a habit of rubbing my thumbs up and down the pages of whatever book I’m reading. I like the feeling of the paper’s texture under my fingers. Many people think I’m tracking my reading. I’m not. I’m merely enjoying the physicality of the pages.

I’ve been doing the same with the Kindle. It’s not quite the same. I think I’m forming callouses on my thumbs from the plastic siding to the Kindle and its case. They kinda hurt.

Speaking of thumbs, we seem to be all thumbs when it comes to taking care of our animals right now. George and Jeff are both sick. George has some stomach thing going on (he likely ate something he shouldn’t have, like a piece of plastic or a lighter) and Jeff’s right back leg is giving him real trouble. He’s injured it before, but it looks like it’s bad this time. He’s going into the vet tomorrow.

I got Jeff not too long after my first dog (the first dog I had outside my parents’ house), Lady, died. He destroyed my apartment; making sure Misty would clean up after him while I lay passed out on the couch. He only wanted a Mom would who clean up after him. Thus, Misty and I married. (That’s a joke, babe.)

Now, my mom has asked to keep Jeff. I can tell my parents love him. I can hear my dad talking to him each morning downstairs after he gets up (Jeff is the only dog who hangs out downstairs, the rest have to stay upstairs with us; he sleeps on the couch) as he makes his lunch and breakfast. My mom adores him. Maybe they just like him. Or maybe she wants to keep him to have a piece of me around after Misty and I move to the West Coast (most likely).

[What’s really strange is saying “three dogs” instead of “four” now.]

Right now, George is sound asleep about five feet away from me on the floor. He’s also been letting out continual farts all night. It’s in the 50s outside, but I’ve left the window open. Carl is in bed with Misty, who is also out like a light.

I guess it should be noted that these posts are barely edited. I do quick read-throughs before posting, but I don’t do line-by-lines or anything like that. So, there’s my disclaimer. This is also where I experiment — with punctuation, words, usage, &c. So, exccuuuuusssse me if you don’t like it.

Oh, I also finally decided what I want to be (or what I am): A cultural critic. Sometimes called a culture critic.

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