Thank u for letting me rant
Not to get all Marley and Me on you, but my dog is sick. She has an autoimmune disease attacking her red blood cells that we didn't know about until yesterday. We've caught it early. She's still tired and breathing heavy in a way that concerns me, but she's alive.
She won't eat her food, so I fed her chicken soup by hand this morning. I had never really thought about it, but soup is really not finger food for a reason.
Yesterday, while I cried into a sweatshirt I stole from someone I love, I tried to think about the grand scheme of things. She's a dog. People's dads and moms and best friends and favorite people are so sick right now and I'm crying about a dog.
Then I thought about the way she would roll onto her stomach to expose her belly for a scratch to just about anyone. How when I was crying and holding her on Friday when she was so sick and her breathing was so labored, she still reached up and touched her nose to my nose. Her spunk, a sense of humor I've never seen in a dog before. How she would come into my room and wake me up with a nudge of a wet nose if I slept in too late.
The unfortunate secret about stories about other people's animals is that they're generally sort of boring, for the same reason that stories about "nice" people are boring. Nothing happens.
And nothing happens here. The dog is alive, downstairs, resting and full of chicken soup. My inability to stop crying for a few hours and then finding out things will be okay isn't the worst thing that happened on April 3rd, 2020. Not by a long shot.
But to quote Lady Bird, different things can be sad. It's not all war, it's not all death and disease. It's also being cooped up with someone you're growing sick of, or missing your old life or losing your job. I think we're all hurting, at least a bit, riding this wave and reaching out, looking for something.