When a Problem Comes Along, You Must Whip It

I hate crying in public. I tend to turn into a puffy ball of redness, it’s as if someone came up, punched me in both my eyeballs with handfuls of red dust. I can’t hide if I’ve been crying either, you can tell, my eyelids tend to be six times their normal size. It’s decidedly unattractive. I regularly go to the cinema alone for this reason; I’m a movie crier, big time, in-the-dark catharsis is very much my bag. In my late teens I lusted after the guy who worked in the local record store, a few years later he started at the local indy cinema. I spent a positively unhealthy amount of time trying to think of something to say to him, always coming up with nothing other than my interpretation of a goldfish, mouth open, mouth close, mouth open, mouth close. Fancying myself quite the hip, indy cinema kid, I took myself to see Dancer in The Dark, to which I unleased an epic episode, those of you familiar with the film should know why. Puffed, wet and positively distraught, I walked out of the auditorium, only to see him on the approach. There was no way this could be my moment, panicked, still sniffling and snotting, I tore from the venue and drove home as quickly as possible to recover in the privacy of my postered bedroom. I never saw him again. Angst ridden teen love stories aside, I burst into tears at work today, my boss, who I don’t think has ever seen me cry, couldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day, I think it freaked him out, which I must confess amused me greatly. He’s usually a toughie.

I gave myself a choice this year to go and visit my mate in the US or I could go to hospital and get my wisdom teeth removed. I picked the holiday, which naturally is the more “fun” option, but given my current predicament wasn’t the “smart” option. Fortunately I’ve never claimed to be smart and as a result, I feel that my liability in this situation is absolved. Should you disagree, I ask you to read the aforementioned statement regarding my intelligence and we can go forth on the ring road of arbitrary debate. Either way, I have been suffering all week with the curse of wisdom teeth, trapped in the prison of my undersized mouth, desperately seeking their freedom to do their thing, whatever that is since chewing animal tendons for tools went out of fashion. Those who’ve experienced wisdom teeth will know I’m in excruciating pain. Excruciating. While known to embellish from time to time (under artist licence of course), on this occasion, I am a mouth of truth, and I speak no falsehoods.

I haven’t slept all week, sure I’ve closed my eyes and drifted from the strict definition of consciousness, but at no time have I dropped into that fascinating, wonderful realm of fully fledged, restful sleep. I miss it, and the less I get the less mental stability I’m able to maintain. I’m a woman on the edge. I’m tired, sore, self pitying and a little bit off my crumpet. Soon I will be right off it, my crumpet that is. The pain usually subsides after a week or so, I am in day seven today, the end is nigh, but it can’t come soon enough, not just for the pain factor, but for the loco factor too. Much more of this no sleep palaver and I won’t hold myself accountable for any actions, if you see a mad ginger woman losing her rag on the street, it’s probably me and I advise you to approach with caution. Until then, I’ll just shed some tears. At work.

My boss, god love him, was trying (very hard) to communicate with me, which had epic fail written all over it before he even tried to engage me. In the height of his frustration, letting out an expletive or two, he turned to find my face, downturn, bottom lip a-trembling, tears dripping and a set of puffy, bloodshot eyes staring back at him. Silence ensued and not a word was spoken for the next hour, I was embarrassed, and he was in a state of shock. Little did he know his expletive was not the cause of the tears. The tears were for Devo, the world’s best mongrel Whipit in the world. Yep, I named my dog after the band that sang Whip It, seeing them in 2008, perform that song is a personal highlight in my life. Judge me as you will.

Devo, my dog, was unwanted, unloved and her original master wanted nothing to do with her, we were given her for a trial and were instructed to dump her if we didn’t want to keep her. My brother and I fell instantly in love with this hyperactive ball of fur, dog breath and ungodly stench and after a few baths, my Mum warmed to her as well. Her favourite game was to steal socks and make you chase her for their return. I lost numerous pairs of socks to that game, unfortunately for my Dad, Devo wasn’t the best at telling the difference between socks and jocks, and at the height of her fascination, she would stalk my mother to the clothesline and steal said jocks straight from the clean laundry basket, hence why it took mum a little longer to warm to her. She’s a toughie too.

I was in the first year of Uni when Devo trotted into our lives, that was nine years ago now. She’s been a loyal friend since that day in spite of the sock losses. It never ceases to amaze me how in touch with their masters animals really are. In mid 2008 I had my first operation, while not major surgery; I was in some discomfort and I went to my Mum’s house to convalesce and scab food. That night, drugged up and curled up on the foldout sofa, I went to sleep, spooned by my wee dog. She stayed, not moving for twelve hours wrapped around my buttocks. It was, to this day the best, most needed cuddle I’ve ever received. She’s good like that though, she seems to know when you need a cuddle, she’s the first to greet me whenever I go home, will howl until I resurface every time I submerge in the pool and she’ll be the first to notice when I’m blue. She’ll definitely never miss a beat if I’m hungry, there’s no shaking her if you’re off to the kitchen, but I think that’s less about love and loyalty and more about food.

I love my dog, I am fortunate to have a handful of very close, loyal friends and I count my dog as one them. My human friends have remarkably better breath, but I think they’re on par with the nutbag factor, I actually caught one of them sniffing my (clean) underwear (as a joke of course) in a burst of hyperactivity. It amused me greatly and everyday I’m thankful that they don’t have blogs to share my more retarded stories in turn. It would be a long and very full blog if they did. My blubbering outburst at work will go down as one of those retarded moments. A member of the team that sits behind me lost her cat today, she felt about her cat the same way I feel about my dog. Her team were musing on the loss, I tried to ignore, but they aren’t quiet people by nature, blocking them out is difficult and eventually, I began to muse on the loss of my dog.

I had seen Devo the week before, we were out the front, I was throwing a ball and she was catching it. By throwing and catching, I mean I threw the ball once; she caught it and then ran around trying to get me to chase her to get the ball back. She was always a terrible student and eventually my brother and I stopped trying to teach her to drop the ball and the principles of fetch and just dealt with our lot. In the thrill of the chase, she must have landed awkwardly and she let out an almighty squeal, she dropped the ball and as I looked into her tiny face, I notice just how flecked with grey it was. Devo never really stopped being a puppy in my eyes, she generally became more obedient, stopped stealing socks and jocks and adapted more to routines, but she never lost that energy of a puppy. The word “walk” still sends her into a frenzy of excitement, which is frustrating in itself because it mostly demonstrates a capacity for selective learning meaning as a family, we’ve been wrapped around the little paw of the animal we’re supposed to dominate. How can this smart, energetic, giant rat be getting on? It makes me sad. It makes me cry.

I have as much power over death as the next person, loss is unfortunately an inherit part of living, the older we get the more we learn that. I just hope she’s still around for cuddles when I finally bite the bullet and have these pesky teeth removed. I think I’ll need her. I definitely needed her today while I teetered on the edge of madness, in tears in front of my colleagues. If I don’t get some sleep soon and end up doing something I’ll regret, I’ll be taking her and her stinky dog breath to prison with me. We’ll be the bitches of cell block H.