Who's A Good Boy?

This weekend, we look for a dog.
This may seem contraindicated, given all that's happened the past month. With a smaller paycheck and financial upheaval a certainty, the expense of a pet seems a little...well...impractical. The adoption fee, which covers surgical sterilization at most shelters, runs around $100. Then you have the food, the bedding, the chew toys.
Nonetheless, when Saturday afternoon rolls around we are packing ourselves into the van and heading for Animal Haven, Wayside Waifs and wherever else we think of. Because We. Need. A. Dog.
Actually, finding a pooch has been on our to-do list for a while now. After Speedy, our "shepherd mix" died of old age and cancer, we grieved for a while. But when the second Christmas without her came and went last year, family members began to drop hints. "We'll wait for cold season to be over," we said. It would be easier on us for the house training.
And now it's April and we have a choice. Label ourselves as too scared and poor for a pet. Or thumb our noses at the Cosmic Joke God and take the risk. Which would be the more optimistic?
Besides, pets are supposed to help improve your mood if you're depression-prone. It says so here, on Self Growth.com. I know the cats improve our mood tremendously when they mess up their pans and play loudly at night. (But all is forgiven when we find out their "play" was really some mouse killin'.)
Speedy, too, could be a happiness enhancer when she wasn't destroying furniture and windows. She amused us by running the "figure 8" around the dining room and coffee tables, and by grabbing the toothpaste off the bathroom vanity and running through the house. Look! I have toothpaste! Chase me!
The only qualm I have about it has to do with what I found on the Internet when I typed in "dogs and depression." Oops. It turns out that dogs may themselves get depressed. So it looks like my family could actually bring the dog down. I sure hope the shelters don't give us any psychological tests.
As for our search, we do not plan to take as long as the Obamas. None of us has any allergies. If possible, we'd like a talking dog. One who could tell us about his/her day. Like one of these posted on YouTube.



Or maybe just a dog who can do funny things to make us laugh, like these:



Ah well. Here's Patti Page with the inevitable song. I love how it gets all Vegassy at the very end.

Manifesto

Yesterday was not a good day for me. I woke up exhausted after an endless dream about being trapped by a maniac killer. It was one of those nights when you wake up every 40 minutes or so, look at the clock and think, "2:30?! How can it only be 2:30? I've been dreaming this same dream for hours."
Then I looked at that damn New York Times again and--this is getting to be a recurring theme--I was completely drawn in by a story about laid-off families losing their homes and having to move in six to a motel room to get by. (Here's a link) These were formerly middle class families just like us who lost all income, were foreclosed or evicted and didn't have a good enough credit record to get an apartment. Now they're stuck because the high cost of the motel eats up every cent they have.
It wasn't so much the story, although that was bad enough. It was the picture. A girl about my daughter's age is lying on a motel bed crowded with the family's stuff, staring dejectedly into space. I just couldn't take my eyes off that picture. Even now, I can feel the tears forming behind my eyes when I think about it.
It didn't get any better as the day wore on. Later I was informed of a local blogger who ranted at length about how Mike should be fired from the Star, and how he links to the Star's reportage and cackles with glee at the paper's financial troubles.
And then, in the evening, we had to lend comfort to a family member with a career setback.
So I thought of writing yesterday, but I just didn't have it in me. I didn't have what it takes to put everything at arm's length and be humorous. Announcements are coming, maybe soon, about the layoffs and cutbacks. In the meantime, the whole notion of converting myself to an optimist seems ludicrous, impossible.
Today, though, is another day, and even though I don't feel like it, I am committed to not being a pessimist. So today seems like a good time to return to more serious fare.
Here's a site that gives a five-step approach to my problem. A, name the adversity. B, name the belief about the adversity that troubles you. C, name the consequence. D, dispute the negative belief and think of a more positive one. E, energize yourself with the more positive thought.
So okay.
Adversity--We don't know, but we strongly suspect we may soon be earning far less money than our budget calls for.
Belief--We'll be homeless and our kids will have no future. We'll be stuck at lower pay for years to come as inflation eats it all away. A serious illness will bankrupt us. Our daughter won't go to college. Our hardship will be mocked by obnoxious types who believe we deserve it because we are of inferior stock. Do I really need to go on?
Consequence--Wait. Haven't I just been going on about the consequence? I could add that as a result, the only thing my children will remember about me was that I was permanently depressed and never had any fun.
Dispute--Well, maybe by eliminating our 401k contribution, we'll survive without being tossed into the street. But the threat of inflation, medical bankruptcy, no college all seem real and reasonable enough. And the mocking. It's not hard to find people out there already with the mocking.
Even with the rosier picture (no layoff, pay cut dealt with) the Consequence seems all too possible. I truly could be remembered by my family as always depressed and never any fun because no matter how it all comes out, I'll never feel safe and secure again. And I don't want to be that.
So Energize--I can't think of anything here except that I'll have to try extra hard to not be always depressed. I thought that was the whole point of this little exercise. If I followed the steps, I'd feel better. Instead, it seems to be saying to me: Just try not to be depressed.

This doesn't seem to be helping.
So I'm going to abandon it and just distract myself, which seems always to work best.
Let's see.
Tomorrow begins spring break for my daughter. No more getting up at 6 a.m. for a whole week! I can get behind that thought.
Spring...I saw a forsythia almost in bloom today. It's cold now, but it is supposed to be warming up later in the week. So yay for that. That means our utilities will go down (at least they will if the state doesn't grant the huge rate increase they've asked for). And maybe I'll be able to plant some early garden during the break.
I'm one week closer to having the credit card paid off.
The Wizards season opens in just a week. And the tickets are paid up.
One more row and I will have the afghan done that I've been working since Christmas.
My daughter had a friend over for a couple of days this week while her parents were out of town. That made it necessary for them to practice together. So for one pleasant evening, I got to hear the violin/cello version of some of their orchestra pieces, plus some scales. And really, they can't take that away from me. We own the cello, the piano and the ability to make music, and those bastards whoever they are, who have done this to the economy cannot take that back.
Okay. Yeah, that does make me feel better, tedious though it may be to anyone reading it. And you know what? I do feel energized. In fact I feel energized in an angry sort of way. Who are these people, trading stocks and derivatives, who would take my fun away? Well, they don't get to.
Manifesto: I resolve that no matter what happens, we will not just have fun. We will have more fun. We will not just get by, we will live well. I will become completely and selfishly a fun seeker. And I will apologize to no one about putting our family's happiness first.