In last week’s post, I talked about how old I am. This week, you’re going to meet Emily.
My teddy bear.
My attention span for concerns is shorter than my sixth graders’ interest in grammar, so who cares anymore if I’m “old”. It’s time to muse about the real issues in life: My teddy Bear’s nose.
But let’s rewind, say… 25 years, four months, five days, a handful of hours and some minutes. What was happening?
Hello, world, here I am (was?)!
Immediately after doing all that, I was given a teddy bear, Emily. She didn’t earn that name until I was a floppy-haired toddler, but that’s not important. What’s important is everything else I’m about to tell you, so LISTEN (read).
Emily and I, introduced moments after I joined the external world, became instant BFFLs before BFFLs were even a thing. That’s right, My Teddy Bear and I are BFFL hipsters.
Fast forward to the present day and meet Me: a woman in her mid-twenties, beginning a promising career, living with her wonderful boyfriend, surrounded by caring, supportive friends and family… and still sleeping with My Teddy Bear.
No. The problem is that my puppy decided that today was the day he needed to eat Emily’s nose.
Today is also the day that I dumped an entire mason jar (told you I was a hipster) of iced coffee (see?) under the driver’s seat of my car, then cried in the driveway like this:
for fifteen minutes.
Additionally, today is the day in the middle of the week at the end of the two months (stay with me now…) in which I was supposed to complete a case study of my teaching portfolio. Stressful? No. Deciding to scrap my case study and start from scratch three days ago is
fucking stupid stressful. I haven’t slept since Sunday, and I don’t mean that in terms of I haven’t slept well. I haven’t slept, period. So today was not the day for Emily to lose her nose to my puppy.
But who can stay mad at this face?
And yes, that is actually my puppy. And no, you may not have him, although my boyfriend likes to offer him to strangers at the dog park.
We don’t go to the dog park anymore.
Really though, who can stay mad? Who can stay anything, or anywhere, at that? I’m a god damn adult who sleeps with My Teddy Bear, who now needs a nose job. I’ve still got things to do, though.
Will I cry while doing them? Y
es, because my adultness is still on the fence.
But I’m still going to do them, dammit, because that’s what I know how to do.