How Do You Expect a Man Not to Get Lost?

This morning, as we came out of the house, the sky was black overhead, but pink and lavender around the southeast edge. There was a light layer of frost over everything and the dog's feet made quiet crunches in the grass. I was thinking. I wonder if Mrs. Wigglebottom was. They say now that dogs laugh, so I suppose they can also sit around pondering. Somehow I doubt it, though. I think, based on my own observation, that dogs are pretty satisfied with themselves, fairly happy. They might wish they had a bone or that you were home from work, but they don't dwell on it. They're lucky that way. I'm home from work early because it's so hot in the office I can't get anything done. I got a ride because I'm tired of walking, though, admittedly, I wouldn't be in such a piss-poor mood if I had. I hate walking home, but I feel better for doing it. I brought stuff home to work on, but I can't bring myself to look at it. I'm in a funk. I spent Sunday on the couch staring at the ceiling. I spent yesterday failing to console old people. I spent today looking at the pile of shit I have to get done and not feeling the least bit motivated to do it. I got home and the house still wasn't clean. But the storm door is finally up and two of the windows are covered in plastic, so I feel bad about complaining. At least the house is being slowly transformed into something ready for winter. That's more than I can say for me. The Old Man says two things* which I've been neglecting: 1. Foolish is he who frets at night, And lies awake to worry A weary man when morning comes, He finds all as bad as before. 2. The generous and bold have the best lives, Are seldom beset by cares, But the base man sees bogies everywhere And the miser pines for presents. "Generous and brave men live the best." If I'll just admit to myself that worry is a form of cowardice, then the reason I'm so bummed becomes clear. I am afraid of a lot, and afraid of a lot I can't really do anything about. Mrs. Wigglebottom is brave and generous, always ready for an adventure. Content with the slow changes and ready for surprises. This Christmas marks her fourth year with me. When my parents brought her here, I expected a nightmare. Much like my uncle, who called me up the day after Christmas and said "First she'll kill your cats and then she'll kill you," I expected that having her with be terrible. But I've been lucky to know her. See, I started out this post all mopey, and watching her curled up on the couch has healed my day. She should become a therapy dog for people who don't mind being jumped on. *At least in the Auden & Taylor translation. Larrington (who I love best) puts it thusly: 1. The foolish man lies awake all night and worries about things; he's tired out when the morning comes and everything's just as bad as it was. 2. Generous and brave men live the best, seldom do they harbor anxiety, but the cowardly man is afraid of everything, the miser always sighs when he gets gifts.