The Blue Tornado

That's the name I've settled on for him.

"Oh, but look how cute and innocent he is!"

Blah blah blah

I'll thank you to never refer to this monster as sweet or cute or innocent, or any of the other adjectives you might use to describe a tiny, half pint kitten.

This dog is none of those things!

He's crazy.

He's a freak.

He's the equivelent Hurricane Carl, in how it continued to torment the country long after it was gone.

Carl flooded my hometown a few weeks ago ya know.

He's... high octane?  High voltage?  High...

You almost have to be high to tolerate him.

"Who, me?"

Shut up, Two Socks.

He torments you with his charm and his looney antics until you want to knock yourself out with a frying pan. 

Then he laughs at you.

Over It

I'm back, for the most part. I've managed to push away most of the debilitating stresses of panic off my shoulders and resume normal life.

But now you know. This is how I react to things that threaten my well being. My only defense machanism is throw a blanket of denial over myself and hide from the world.

How does that even help, anyways?

My life is good. It's great, in fact. I dont have anything to complain about.

These are the things that make me cherish what's really good in my life.  The things that make me happy and the things that truely matter to me.

When I lose control of my emotions, I seek comfort and escape from anything around me.  Movies. Coffee. Friends and family. My dogs. A good book.

October 3rd, I'd messaged to my facebook that I was genuinely happy right at that moment. There was not a single thing wrong with my life. Less than 72 hours later, my life falls apart (in my head it did, at least). 

How does that happen?

I keep trying to go back to October 3rd. The way I felt at that moment.

It's coming back.

We're going out of town this weekend.  A mini vacation.  I'm fortunate to have multiple sisters who live on lakes.  Red and I are taking what is potentially the last truely nice weekend and spending it on the lake.

It won't be quiet though. We're bringing all of the dogs with.  All five dogs. Including the blue psycho.  Blue tornado?  Blue hurricane?  Two Socks? 

TommyBoy. 

Total we will have 7 dogs for the weekend. 

Talk about stressors.

Comfort

I needed to blog today. Blogging, and viewing the blogs written by my fellow followed bloggers, is a source of comfort for me.

Fellow followed bloggers?  Yeah.

I'm the type of person who is weirded out, wigged out, freaked out by the most random things. When it comes to my health, it get freaked out when something goes wrong.

For instance, Wednesday afternoon at lunch time, I broke a tooth. 

I broke.  A tooth.

I was chewing my sandwich and my tooth just broke off. 

My first reaction was panic, quickly followed by denial.  This did not just happen!  It's a dream!  Wake up!  But alas, it was not a dream. A hunk of one of my molars is gone. Well not gone. Its probably still in my truck somewhere after I dropped it when my hands went numb.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a fuzzy, nauseating mood.

Thursday morning, I went to the dentist, where I was given a hoard of good and bad news. The good news is, they can probably fix it.  The bad news?  The cost to fix my mouth will run me around $7000, on the high side.  If they dont have to do a root canal on my broken tooth, then it will be more like $5500. Ish.

I left the dentist office and before I even reached my truck to drive to work, I burst into tears. The panic of knowing that I had 6 hours worth of dental work ahead of me. (The dentist is one of my greatest fears. I'd rather fly on a plane than go to the dentist. Those of you who know me will understand the power of that statement.)  The fear of knowing that I don't have $7000 sitting in the bank to spend on my teeth.  Then once those feelings had been dampened down, the sheer shame of feeling like I was going to disappoint Red. We have so many dreams and goals together.  $7000 would surely shatter them all.

I was only able to make it through about 3.5 hours of work yesterday.  I was so worked up over the entire thing that I hadnt eaten since my tooth had broken, which was over 24 hours. I finally went home and took a nap. Then Red came home and we talked about it. And he assured me that none of the things that we are planning for are more important than getting myself healthy.  He's so amazing.

Today I feel okay. There is a thick, sickening layer of stress floating in my gut currently. I cant seem to push past it.  I'm waiting for a phone call back from the dentist to tell me if they will let me do a payment plan. Until I know, I dont think the stress will go away.  Once I have an idea of the plan, I will feel better about it. After this, the actual terrifying procedure will seem like nothing.

Things are not as bad as they seem. I cant seem to wrap my head around that though. I'm not dying. I'm not in that much pain. And its just money. I'll have enough eventually. So why cant I just be happy that its going to be a beautiful weekend and I dont have a damn thing planned? I get to relax.

Distressed is Distressing

For me, anyways.

I've been a big fan of blogging diy'ers for some time.  To the point where they inspired me to do a handful of my own projects, most of which turned out wonderfully!

You recall the bedroom makeover:

 

Which lead to the home-made headboard:

The hutch makeover:

And the Ottoman Recover:

I had great fun with each and every one of the projects I've tackled.  And all of them were inspired by other bloggers who DIY on a daily basis.

I don't like change enough to want to be changing things so frequently, which is why all of these projects were so spaced apart, and the reason that this blog will never become 'Musings of a Minnesota DIYer'.  That's just not how I roll.

My vision is turning onto my furniture at home.  Most of it, dressers, the coffee table, etc, is older and hand me downs from siblings when I was 18.  Much of the pieces are solid wood.  I've been seeing the results people are getting with some sanding (okay, a lot of sanding) and some primer and paint or stain.  And I'm getting excited about it. 

However... and I'm probably going to get kicked for saying this, it really bums me out when people purposefully 'distress' a piece after they have spent hours or even days refurbing it.  I guess I am not seeing the magic that others are seeing in finished distressed pieces. To me, they just look older and spookier. And dirty.  Distressing gives them a very dirty look. 

It's distressing.  Get it?  But seriously.

Resist the Finnius

LOOK at this baby!

Yeah.  Resist him.  It's okay, I'll give you a few seconds to try.



Ha, FAILED!  Just like I knew you would.

Oh, I've totally got faith in you.  But just not on this subject. 

Nobody resists Baby Finnius.

It's Different This Time...

I don't expect anybody else to understand my passion for dogs and rescue.  When 'it' found me, it gobbled me up whole and it will never spit me out.  And if it did, I would never be whole again.

But I struggle with it because nobody else understands.  It's most difficult being in love with a man who just doesn't get it either.  Red isn't a dog person, which is unfortunate because it's a constant source of tension between us. 

When I adopted my dogs, there was something there.  There was a feeling about the dog that brought about an understanding that that dog was to be mine.  It's a specific emotion, and I've never had it for any dog other than my own.  Jake, Frankie and Kirby.  Maggie is Red's dog... I didnt have a feeling about her for me.  I had a feeling about her for Red though.  I knew the day they met that she was his.  Yeah, we went through 2 more adoptions and returns before Red finally realized it for himself. 

Jake is my soul. He's the driving force behind the strength of my passion for rescue. He is the reason that I took the path that brought me to where I am today. Without him, I fear where I might be.

Frankie is my heart.  She sprouted something in my heart that is so huge that is sometimes overwhelms. She makes me laugh, she makes me cry.  She's amazing. And she has eyes only for me.  Non-dog people just dont understand the beautiful power in that.

Kirby is my love.  He's a clown and a fool.  He keeps me grounded and slows me down when I push my life too quickly.  And he constantly reminds me of why I love dogs in the first place.  Kirby will not be pushed, and thats what makes me a better dog owner.

This past weekend, Kirby, Frankie and I travelled south to Napervilla, IL for a frisbee comp.  We brought back with us 5 Aussies who were facing death.  Konrad, Babaloo, Finn, Aubrey....

And Smoke.

Smoke is my light.  And he should be mine.  The minute Smokey stepped off the transport on Saturday and I wrapped my arms around him, he was mine.  He didnt leave my side all weekend.  We were bonded instantly.  And last night when I had to say goodbye to him and send him with his foster mom, it was like the light went out.  I've been sad since he left me. I have tears in my eyes when I see the pictures I took of him. 

Smoke is meant to be mine.  I know it.  He knows it.  It breaks my heart that I cannot have him simply because my love isn't a dog person.  I feel blue.

Its so dark without my Smokey Boy.

Booted

I've been booted out of two of my favorite sleepings spots.


Next to Red

And in the hotel beds when travelling for disc dog comps.

All because the dogs have taken over. 

Fine, I'll just sleep on the floor.  Or order a cot from room service. 

Yeesh.