You've probably heard the term, 'white people problems.' Well, I have 'pet-owner problems.'
Allow me to apologize for my lack of posting over the past week. I've been a hot, stressed-out MESS. And when I'm this frazzled, I can't write. How sad is that? Normally, in anxiety-ridden situations, I rely on food as comfort. However, there have been a number of times (OK, the number being 2, including this instance) where I've actually lost my insatiable appetite. So, what the hell is going on, you ask?
No one died.
No one is sick.
I didn't get fired.
I got a dog. A 5 month-old puppy, to be exact. Her name is Lucy, and she's the cutest, furriest, sweetest, happiest, smartest little creature on the planet.
I mean, seriously, is she not the most adorable thing YOU'VE EVER SEEN?
Look, I've wanted my own dog ever since my college days. So it's been a while now. But, any time I brought the idea up to my mom (whom I talk to daily), she'd just tell me that "...having a dog in Manhattan is selfish and cruel. Dogs should be able to run freely outdoors and not be cooped-up." Blah, blah, blah. I mean, I did see her point. But only to a certain point...
When my relative was in town the other week, we happened to walk past an outdoor pet adoption. "You should really get a dog, dude." That's coming from a girl who owns two pups. In spacious, sprawling Southern California. "I mean, of course I want one. There's really just no rush." She went on to tell me that there will never be the right or ideal time (to get a dog), and that I should just go for it. When we got back to my apartment, she hopped online and researched Craigslist ads, Ebay Clasified postings, and everything in between, in search of my ideal dog. And, 24-hours later, we brought lil' Lucy home.
It was all unicorns, rainbows, and leprechauns for all of about 10-minutes. My heart began beating at a dangerously-elevated pace as we unwrapped and put together Lucy's crate, food/water bowls, toys, wee-wee pads, etc. "I just don't know if I can do this," I gasped. Little did I know how much harder it would be once my relative left the next day...
For those of you who don't know me, personally, I am one of the most independent people you will ever meet. I love that I can come and go as I please, and have the freedom to do whatever the hell I want. When I want. But, now, I'm responsible for another living, breathing being, and it's scaring the shit out of me. Instead of killing time at a margarita bar before a 7pm dinner or event, I have to come home to walk, feed, and play with a dog. This weekend - and the next two weekends coming up, in fact - Lucy will spend Saturday night at a "doggy hotel," while I finish out my three remaining weekends at a Hamptons share. Granted, it's only Saturday night. But still. I just don't know if I'm cut out for this.
To further elevate my blood pressure, I lost my debit card last weekend while celebrating one of my good friend's last nights in town (she moved to Austin in the beginning of the week). Then, on Monday, I learned that my best friend here is moving to San Francisco. In less than a month. Too much! Yesterday was the first day that I didn't have more than one meltdown. Baby steps. To say that this week has brutally kicked my ass is an understatement. (I realize that my "problems" are miniscule compared to most of the shit that's going on outside of my bubble. But, still, this all really hurts and sucks.)
In terms of Lucy, I think I'm going to give it another week to decide if I can keep her. To figure out if my lifestyle is such that I can support a puppy. I adore her, but I just don't know yet if owning a dog is the right fit. But, at the same time, the thought of selling her makes me want to throw up. It's gut-wrenching.
Have any of you ever experienced this? Am I insane? I would love to hear your pet stories. I just feel so alone in all of this. :(
Until we eat again,
The Lunch Belle