I watched as the small scrap of a dog humped his stuffed giraffe incessantly and wondered if it might be a metaphor for my life. I had been doing that a lot lately. Seemed like every small occurrence, every messed-up coffee order, every pigeon systematically pecking away at the concrete was the universe trying desperately to communicate with me. What was it trying to say? Was I not paying attention or was the message something so overly simple I had missed it in my attempts to strain greater meaning out of every mundane event I somehow managed to stumble through in this life?
Great, now I was depressing myself… again. That also seemed to be on the upswing. Wonder if I need to take more vitamins or something?
I was completely prepared to hunker down to adequately reflect on my impending depression when the grunts of the humping dog distracted me. It was a Shiatsu, I think. Actually, I have no freaking clue what kind of dog it was, I just hoped it was a Shiatsu simply because the name sounded like someone cussing in Japanese. There was a time that I would have known with certainty what kind of dog it was, when I was with Janine. Janine had been an avid dog-lover and believed it her personal mission to educate me on all canine breeds each time we took her dog for a walk. It was a wiener dog, a fact I only remember because my twisted brain somehow makes it a point to catalog anything to do with the male genitalia. Sick, right? To this day I believe my relationship with Janine ended primarily because I kept calling her dog “dick dog”.
Sometimes I believe I have early-onset Alzheimer’s. It would explain why I can only remember things resembling phalluses. It would also explain why I’m sitting here in this gaudy sitting room next to a giraffe-humping dog without a clue as to how I arrived here.
Maybe I was dead and this was purgatory- an overly-decorated room with bad wallpaper and a ghost dog destined to hump an inanimate stuffed toy for all time.
“Okay, sorry that took so long. Here’s a $20 and you can keep the change”.
I quickly snapped to attention as the woman in the suede jacket reentered the room and handed me the $20 bill. Pocketing the money I gave the dog one last glance as I was escorted to the front door by the woman who I could only assume was responsible for the horrendous wallpaper. “Thank you for choosing Pizza House!” I blurted, out of habit, as she turned to go back inside.
Sitting in my 1997 Honda Prelude I wondered again, maybe majoring in Philosophy wasn’t the best decision…
The Not So Fantastic Reality:
The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:
ONE: This was a weird one, I know but sometimes I need to get a little weird. I like to imagine I’m in the middle of a novel and in the mind of the character and then I just start writing. This is what came out- an angst-filled Philosophy major who can’t get out of his own head and can’t land a gig any better than pizza delivery.
TWO: Andy is writing a script for a short film he’s planning to direct centered around an Alzheimer’s patient so we’ve both been researching and talking a lot about this disease. Whew… talk about depressing.
THREE: Joey is still humping his stuffed giraffe. Now he is insisting it be shoved up against Andy as he performs his dirty little dance.
Love & Squirrels.