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My Cutest Mistake

Do I have a story to tell, and I was not even in attendance! I take a while to tell stories in writing because I try to explain a lot, so bear with me. Since Neville chose Adam and has as little to do with me as possible, I have been pretty upset. Plus, one day, Adam made me feel exactly like Dad and his second wife made me feel, which cut deep. It was a whole thing, and I could not tell Adam what was wrong because I would just start crying and I finally told him via text. It wasn’t intentional, but it’s how I felt.

Anyway, I started looking for Golden retrievers because they make good service dogs and are very helpful for disabled people. While I was looking at Goldens on the Greenfield Puppies site, I looked through the other breeds and they had Bernese Mountain dogs (BMDs), which have always been my dream dog after I discovered them. Before that, it was rottweilers and Golden retrievers.

Breeders in my state charge a crazy price (probably standard, but crazy to me) for dogs which is why I chose another state fairly close to us. The Goldens and BMDs were about 80% cheaper and AKC registered with health guarantees, the last two things are supposed to be signs of reputable breeders. I’m not too concerned with the AKC thing, but it is a perk.

After weeks of searching, I found a cute little BMD named Kyle who was only $50 more than a Golden and he was about 5 hours away from us. Since we don’t have a car, we tried to find a way to get him because shipping him here would have been $500 in and of itself, which is no bueno. I could rent a car for $65+ gas and that would be much cheaper, obvi. I found lots of puppies, but they were going fast because the prices drop as the puppies get older.

“Kyle” (breeder photo)

So, I called(!!) the breeder and told him I would like to buy Kyle and he said okay and wanted to know when I could get him and I said it would be two weeks. He said that people were calling about the ones left because the price had just decreased so I asked if I could send a deposit. I could tell by multiple videos that a lot of the breeders on this site were Amish. The location includes Amish country and the way the women were dressed was very telling. Fine. No big deal. They have to make money somehow, but that meant no PayPal or Cash App and the like.

The guy said I could mail a check for 70% of the cost of Kyle and I could let him know when it was in the mail. I said I would and I did so through bill pay with my bank because who has paper checks these days?!? Well, we were able to make arrangements to get the pup a week earlier, which was fine with the breeder, and his wife told me via phone to bring cash for what I owed them. I was sleeping when she called, but said okay and hung up. I was not going to be in a car for 5 hours and then try to work, so Adam was going.

Five hours later, Adam gets to the breeder’s, and the guy refuses to give him the pup because he wants the full amount in cash and would not accept the check that arrived that day (I also had screenshots from my bank for Adam to show him in case the check hadn’t made it). He said people were coming who were going to pay more for the dog because the jerk did not mark the dog as sold after we settled on me putting a deposit down. I guess there were words, and the guy went into his house and would not come out. I was livid. Like, ice-cold livid.

I had already seen an atrocious animal abuse/puppy mill case online when searching the breeder’s last name (different first name, but same location and most likely related), so I had soured on the Amish, which I will discuss why in another post. I called the breeder and told him via answering machine (because… Amish) that I had recorded our phone conversations (I had not) and my husband would not leave without getting the police involved. I did not know that Adam had already left; he had terrible cell service there, we found out. Before he left, Adam said he told the guy he would be hearing from our lawyer (we don’t have one).

The breeder called me back a bit later, which I didn’t answer because I’m emotionally stunted and cannot handle confrontation or back up my bravado, but I read the message as he was leaving it (thanks, Apple!) and he said something along the lines of he didn’t want me to not have a puppy or go home without a puppy. I called Adam to tell him to stop driving but couldn’t get through so called through Facebook Messenger (thanks, Facebook!) and he was already talking to the breeder and was going to go back there to get the puppy. He had already made it an hour away from there 🥹🥹🥹.

The breeder tried to act like he had a change of heart and wanted to do the right, honest thing, but Adam said he had expected the full price of the pup in cash and wanted to keep the deposit check as well!

About 7 or 8 hours after that, I got my little boy 🥰🥰. He was a mess because he got car sick several times, so he had to get a bath as soon as he got to his new home. I don’t think he has ever been in a house. Adam said the pups were in a barn in a stable with other animals, and his bath water was so dirty. He didn’t know how to step into the house, either, and is still getting used to going in and out of the house. He didn’t know how to take treats from my fingers/hand. He is learning.

Bathed!

I named him Oswald Hemingway and we call him Oz or Ozzy. Neville is super jealous but also really wants to play with him. They are 8 months apart in age, so we have to watch Nev doesn’t get too rough, and Ozzy definitely cannot keep up with him. Nev does his Phoebe running with him, which is hilarious. I’m at square one with potty training because he was an outside/barn pup (which I did not know), so that is a pain. Neville is much more motivated and eager to learn, but he also had a good breeder who taught him things before we got him.

So that is my very long, exhausting story of how we got our latest member of the family.

After playtime.
Getting comfy.
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All it Takes is One

Mmm…this term… I haven’t cried this much over school since I took Applied Statistics. I already disliked my intermediate poetry workshop (PW2) teacher because I felt she was rude and dismissive. Now, I dislike her even more. She finally graded my four poetry submissions, and again, she was rude, mouthy, dismissive, and not at all helpful. She gave no helpful feedback and merely complained. I am very fond of my PW1 professor and revised my poems incorporating her feedback. I can take constructive criticism and I find it helpful and useful.

Poems tell a story; of course, there is a narrative.

These comments are not helpful or useful. My poem is “too long,” but as I just told Adam, Whitman’s Song of Myself is over 52 pages. A certain part is confusing to her (which I was rudely reprimanded for saying the same thing about two poems) and therefore not needed, and one poem is nothing more than a journal entry. She didn’t say anything at all about one poem. Oh, and she said I “should be” writing in free verse. Um, why? Last I checked, poets could write in whatever form they wished. Louisa May Alcott rhymed. Dr. Seuss rhymed. Whitman, Dickinson, Frost, Pound, Thomas…all wrote poems that rhymed. Every poem I submitted was free verse, btw.

So, I shall present to you my terrible poems. It’s unfortunate because I was actually proud of these. 

~*~Little One~*~

His eyes were clear, his smile was bright,
 
but he called me Little One. 

He spoke of the days of World War II, 

vivid stories punctuated by his laughter,
 
yet he called me Little One. 

My brother became his son — my father. 

My father’s latest mistake became my mom —

Oh, how that woman must have seethed! 

My grandmother stayed his wife,

or perhaps his combat nurse —

after 40 years together, it’s hard to tell.  

Still, I was Little One. 

On the surface, a sweet endearment —

a generic term to bypass recognition

and leave room for plausible deniability.  

He drove ‘round the yard from

dawn ‘til dusk, clinging to the last

vestiges of independence with each

calculated turn of the wheel. 

The last time ever I saw his face,

he was lying in a hospital bed,

poisoned blood coursing through his veins.

He looked so peaceful.

He looked so small.

And I realized — our roles had reversed.  

He had become the little one.  

He was never dismissing.

He was never forgetting.

I remained close to his heart.  

I was one worth protecting.  

With his life's tales told, his energy depleted,

his canvas was blankened once more —

the lines and years melting away 

with each increasingly shallow breath.  

In that moment, our worlds aligned,

for I was his Little One, and he was mine.


~*~Behind Windshields~*~

It was raining.  It was dark.  

At the end of the driveway, we waited.  

Once more, I was chasing after my father —

a man who never wanted to carry that label, 

who wore his defiance like a well-tailored suit.

He was my town — 

adorned with a shimmering crown 

made from razor blades and lies.  

The brake lights shone like nebulae 

frozen in a night sky — long forgotten, 

yet so desperate to remain seen.

She told me not to come.  

She banned me from his funeral.  

I shrunk from her emerald gaze,

turning a mirror in place of 

the other cheek for ten years.  

Never a word from my father.  

No calls —
No cards —
No contact — 

as it had been my entire life.  

He poisoned my thoughts and mind

like the cancer that invaded his body.  

Still, his pride stayed intact,

denying peace and closure for

his child who was still a child,

emotionally stunted and seeking 

love from one who refused to give it.  

I could not approach my dying father, 

but he would wave to me.  

Wave to his only daughter —

the one who relentlessly made excuses 

and defended him — out of love, 

out of fear that others would realize

she was undeserving of love.  

With tears dripping off my cheeks, I waved — 

each of us behind windshields.  

A final wave through distorted panes.

A silent goodbye to years of pain.

A silent hello to years more.


~*~Diminished~*~

I rush to tell you about my day; tripping over words as you look away.  

There’s so much I want to tell you; things I think of or that

Happened while you live your life in unconsciousness or another dimension, pointedly unaware.  

You crave my presence only to satisfy yourself and not much else.  

Your refusal of help tells me I mean little to you.  

You choose to exist and drag me down as well.  

Living in a way I swore I never would, 

Exhausting myself and receiving no help, only platitudes.  

Your words are written with chalk on

A rainy day, they mean less

Than nothing — placeholders and placaters, 

Until I give up.  

I fade away

Every day

Diminished.


~*~O Jester!  My Jester!~*~

O, Jester!  My Jester!  Your tortured life is done.  

The world has given you laughter; the love you sought is won.  

The curtains are drawn, you have moved on, your mourners left behind.  

Your pain was too great, you foresaw your fate of living with a diseased mind.  

But, O, heart!  Heart!  Heart!

  O, the tears of devastation we shed,

   Where on the stage my jester lies,

    Fallen silent and dead.

O, Jester!  My Jester!  Rise up and hear the cheers, 

Rise up — for you, in high esteem — for you, the audience appears, 

For you, accolades and honors — for you, the one so beguiling, 

For you, they call, the mirthsome masses, their eager faces smiling. 

Here, Jester!  Dear paragon!

  This lap beneath your head!

   It is some dream that on the stage,

    You've fallen silent and dead. 

My jester does not answer; his lips are blue and still.  

My paragon does not feel my hand; he has no pulse nor will.  

The screen has dimmed, the credits roll, the final cut is done.  

From a troubled life ladened with strife, the pain he knew is gone. 

Exult, O, world!  And sing, O, songs!

  But I with mournful stead,

   Stand on the stage where my jester lies,

    Fallen silent and dead.
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The (Frugal) Student Life

Before I share my latest mistake I am in the process of making, I wanted to share some college student “hacks.” I need to save money when I can because I am terrible at money management; probably because of ADHD and the fact that I lived with Mom until she died and I did not have to pay rent. I will gladly buy a TV for $400 (but really, $400 for a name-brand 65″ LED smart TV?!?), but I will search to the ends of the Internet to pay as little as possible for toiletries and life essentials. That’s just me. I’ve come to terms with it and am aware of it.

Speaking of, the place I shop for most of my items now has a price adjustment thing, which rocks so hard. For 30 days from purchase, you can request a price adjustment and get the difference back if the item went on sale after you bought it. Once, I bought a little desk fan for $15 and it went on sale for $7 after I bought it. I requested a price adjustment and received $8 back. How awesome is that?! More recently, I got $6 back for two surge protectors because they went on sale, so I paid $7 for each surge protector, compared to paying $20 or $30 on Amazon for the same ones.

I just requested a price adjustment on an order, which made me think of talking about it here, and received $5 because several items dropped in price. You can choose to get the refund as credit or back on your payment method, so no pressure on spending the refund at that place. The only other time I’ve seen that is when I bought my Bose headphones for work and they went on sale for Christmas after that. I just contacted customer support and received $60 back, which is super awesome of Bose.

That was not one of my college hacks, but it is still a money-saving option. I will not disclose the shopping place because they are being smeared at the moment and most of the “facts” are total lies.

Onto the college money-saving tips. Firstly, you will need proof that you are in college. For most places, it is as simple and straightforward as verifying enrollment with your school email address. Verify.Me and another similar place are used by some as well. Other places may require your school schedule or proof of enrollment, both of which are easy enough to obtain.

Spotify Premium and Hulu (with ads)

I’ve used Spotify Premium since starting college. Back in 2018, the bundle was Spotify Premium, Hulu with ads, and Showtime for $4.99/month. Super awesome deal. Now, it is Spotify Premium and Hulu with ads for $5.99/month, which is still a good deal. New users get one month free. Adam and I cannot listen to Spotify at the same time, but we rarely do, so I still find it worth it.

Apple Music

Since we have attempted to listen to music at the same time and Adam’s music is influencing my music recommendations, I re-joined Apple Music. For students, it is $5.99/month. I still use Spotify the most because not all of my music is available through Apple, which I don’t understand. Namely, Olivia Rodrigo. They recently included Apple TV+ in this, but I believe it said for a limited time.

Amazon Prime Student and Amazon Music Unlimited

Now, I am still mad at Amazon, so I do not get Prime or Music Unlimited from them anymore. However, students can get Amazon Music Unlimited for $5.99/month after one month free. For Amazon Prime Student, you can get six months free and then it is $6.49/month or $69/year, which is half off the regular price. That is a great deal. Sadly, when Mom was alive, a year of regular Prime was $79/year and it is over $120 a year now.

I left Prime when they decided to raise the price every other month (it seemed) and started adding ads for Prime Video, which is not cool. Plus, they are gearing up to make Alexa/Echo into a subscription-based service, and around the time that was brought to the table, Alexa started to mysteriously get worse and worse to the point that I am switching to Google Nest as soon as I am able. It is not my fault that everyone is using a home assistant as a home assistant instead of a shopping buddy.

DoorDash

We have DoorDash here and you can get DashPass for $4.99/month. I use the service enough that it is worth getting most months. I find it much cheaper than Instacart, but they do not offer the same amount of stores, although they are expanding beyond restaurants and convenience stores.

Zenni Optical

Zenni just rocks on principle. They have the cheapest quality glasses I have found. For normal prescriptions, you pay for the frames, optional coating, and shipping. Since they have frames for as little as $6.95, I have paid under $20 for several pairs of glasses since discovering this site. They are nice glasses, too. I usually get coating which is $4.95 (basic) or $14.95 (oil and fingerprint resistant) depending on what I want, and it is still loads cheaper than other places. Anyway, they offer a 10% student discount. With my last glasses, I had to get bifocals or progressives, so it was frames ($20), optional coating ($4.95), $52 for progressives, and shipping. With the student discount, my glasses were under $80. It was either $70 or $77.

There are more ways to save if you’re a college student, but those I mentioned are the ones I know and use. A quick Google search for student discounts brings great results. Instacart supposedly offers some kind of student discount but I cannot find it. They seem stingier than other places. Happy shopping!

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~*~AuDHD~*~

I learned a while back that people in other English-speaking countries pronounce Adidas much differently than people in America (the States). Here, it is pronounced Uh-dee-duss, while in other countries it is pronounced Oddy-doss. I found that interesting. Most of the time, when I see or hear Adidas, the only thing I think of is All Day I Dream About Sex 😂. Iykyk. Anywho, I am here with another poem 🙂. 

~*~AuDHD~*~

Divisible by 5
Is how it should be
The volume for my music
And the TV

It doesn’t stop there
I have to confess
The passage of time
Is part of this mess

At 1, it’s all good
And I feel alive
Then, utter chaos
‘Til it’s 1:05

2 units of insulin?
That won’t work for me
I’ll skip it altogether
Or add another 3

But that’s not all
That goes on in my brain
The mental gymnastics
Could drive one insane

My ADHD
Pops up to say “Hi!”
There are too many rules
And it wants to know why

Dinner needs washing
The laundry needs cooking
A treat for the puppy
When no one is looking

Now nothing is finished
And it’s time for bed
But I must get some work done
I’ll sleep when I’m dead

I’m still not happy with either of my instructors 😒. Poetry lady says I have “a lot of lyricists” on my reading list. Well, duh. I told her in the first week that I do not read much poetry. My last instructor was just fine with that. Lyrics are poetic; poetry can certainly be put to music if one so desires. Many, many folk songs were poems before songs were even born. But I held my tongue.

Then…I emailed my Shakespeare instructor to ask about thesis statements (she wasn’t happy with mine) and she replied that I need to address her by name in emails and to mind my tone 😡😡😤. Mind. My. Tone. I am autistic, I literally cannot “mind my tone.” What you see is what you get. I would understand if I was rude or pissy but I write how I speak and that is how it has always been. I honestly do not know how to be otherwise.

Forgiveable, perhaps, if I had not disclosed being AuDHD in my first post as I do with every class. I do not have an intentional tone and since Mom’s gone, I don’t have a filter because I would speak through her, and now I do not have that option, which would not be an option in school, really, unless I asked her to read stuff before I submitted it and she suggested changes. So, I sat there and cried for an hour or so and kept myself from replying, which was a very hard thing to do.

She also gave me a low grade on my discussion post because my answer was “vague.” I need specifics if you do not want me to be “vague” (according to you). My husband knows this, so if I am vague when I ask him something or answer a question, he lets me know or asks me questions so I can elaborate and/or explain myself. At the very least, she could have responded to my post so I had an opportunity to appease her. I am a straight-A student and a junior; I know that all my other instructors were not just handing out A’s willy-nilly and letting me coast. I am literal. I can seem obtuse or sarcastic when I am not being either of those things. I spoke to my advisor about it so at least he is aware. Work with me and I will work with you.

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The Failed Lab Experiment

What a complete and total flippin’ bust! Neville has made his choice, and it does not include me. He only wants to be with Adam except to check if I have food. He treats me like Dad’s wife treated me. I don’t get it, though. Adam and I have opposite sleeping schedules, so when I was awake, I had him, and when Adam was awake, he had him. Adam took him out to go to the bathroom but that’s just because he smokes outside so he goes out anyway. If he was sleeping, I took Nev out. If I make Neville stay in here, he sits in the doorway and whines and dings the bell until I become livid and march him to the other bedroom.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that:

  • I got him to be my service dog. I’ve always had reservations about Adam having a dog and I knew it wouldn’t be good for us as a couple and I’m often thisclose to sending both of them to his mom’s.
  • I treat Neville 1000x better than Adam does. Adam sounds like a textbook abusive father in volume and phrases, and I don’t like it at all. I can’t yell like him, so my yelling is hardly alarming.
  • I do all the non-abusive training and treats and praise him even when I’m not impressed (Look at you! You picked a piece of food up off the floor and ate it! Wow. Like you’re not starving every second of the day).

I’ve never been rejected by a damned animal before.

I’ve always stuck with cats regardless of how much I wanted a dog because I knew how Adam would be and that I would not tolerate it. He thinks yelling and repeating threatening phrases is training. Obedience should not be out of fear. Mom tried to tell him, “Don’t do that around [Cari],” and he should know better by now. I don’t like loud noises, and Dad used to yell. It actually took Dad a while to lose his temper, but then he would just let it all out at my brother or me.

Early in dating my ex-husband, he lost his temper with his job when we were in the vehicle and I started packing and was ready to leave as soon as we got home. My ex never once raised his voice toward me but it doesn’t have to be aimed at me. Some people never change, I guess. I think it is extremely disrespectful that I am the one always making sacrifices and being uncomfortable in my own home. To go with that, I think you get to a certain age where you’re just not going to put up with certain things anymore and you learn to advocate for yourself as much as you can 🤷‍♀️. This post took quite a turn.

So, that’s where we are, and it’s all great. Great, great, great, great.

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~*~Pervasive Thoughts~*~

Five poems this week! I had to write five poems for class this week alone 😫😫. I know, I know, it’s a poetry workshop class, but last workshop was two a week and certain forms each week. I don’t know how poets who write poems every day do it, honestly. I don’t know if it is because there is too much going on in my head or what, but I do much better with prompts or photos or contests. I find writing very cathartic, so I usually write about painful things so I can get them out, which is exhausting.

For class, I wrote about my father refusing to see me before he died and about my grandfather having dementia and referring to me as Little One because he couldn’t remember my name. Considering he died from sepsis, I’m assuming his dementia was caused by an untreated UTI. He had not been to the doctor in over 40 years, so it took them a while to figure out why he collapsed (he never woke up). Those two poems were very draining.

On top of the four poems for the milestone, we had to write another one for the discussion post, which is a forum mainly for attendance, participation, and accreditation. We had to choose a poem from our reading list and write a poem in their “voice,” which I found weird because I don’t even know what my voice is. I did it, nonetheless, and came up with the following:

~*~Pervasive Thoughts~*~

But don’t you see?  

Once it’s in your head,

it becomes a part of you —

it wraps around your brainstem

and creeps into your DNA.  

Walking the tightrope becomes

less daunting when it’s over 

a perverse safety net of pills,

razor blades, and ropes.  

The passivity of it all creates

a sense of mundanity that leads

you to believe everyone possesses

these thoughts and feelings — 

until you realize you’re the outlier and

most would exist in the extremist

of conditions and call it surviving.

I don’t know how that will go over in such a censored society (from how it used to be — not that we are as censored as other countries), but the professor was cool with including Wanting to Die by Anne Sexton in my reading list, so I am guessing the subject matter will not be a problem.

I doubt my PW2 professor will get back on my good side since I really liked my PW1 professor and PW2 laughed and said that PW1 was very wrong. I am not cool with people talking 💩 about people I like and/or respect. So, possibly a long eight weeks.

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Poetically Pissed Off

Well, I figured my intermediate workshop was going to be a challenge, but I did not know my opinions would be invalidated and my styles and voices questioned. Firstly, I had to stop centering my poetry (which is certainly a style – my preferred style at that). Then, I had to include punctuation, a formatting choice that I used sparingly, which incidentally I am being told to reverse in the new class. Now, I am not supposed to initial capitalize the first word of each new line. Who said I wanted to be a contemporary poet? Oh, and I can’t be inspired by “pop” poets like Rupi Kaur, who is the only contemporary poet I like.

Needless to say, my workshop professor and I are clashing. And I was admonished for stating the poems we read this week made no sense. If something does not make sense to me, I am going to make that clear. Just because some stuffy editors felt otherwise does not mean other people’s opinions should conform. The Emperor’s New Clothes, anybody? Suggesting I am not reading correctly and not that the poet wrote incoherently is insulting. Yellow Submarine is catchy; it is not a top-rate, meaningful song.

Raiding people’s private journals after they die and publishing them is certainly no way to set a precedent on what is the standard and now accepted. That has happened to at least two poets that I know of, Emily Dickinson being one. (She had only 10 poems published with her consent and her catalog is over 1,000.) It’s actually extremely violating and self-serving. I am here to learn, not conform or lie. This week’s reading list included the following:

coping skills lost in the flood
By CA Conrad

                   make you aching upwards of a
                             teenage broken phone
                           come to hear underwater
                                libraries up the side of
                                        the dinner plate a
                                        little too fast
                                          not ungrateful like
            some of  these bastards around here
can’t tap out a tune with you looking away
                      genies of not enough sleep
                               a happier location for
                                        the war not the
                       easiest thing you realize
                          beautiful architecture
                          refreshing beverages
       our signs read hello love us for
                                  the century of
                                  progress we
                                      gave you
                                        bombers
                                          arriving
                                    early here
                                  they are

From “Listen to the Golden Boomerang Return” 
 
          a potato
             born by
               shovel
               I am a
            bride of
          poetry in
         my orange
        and purple
       gown an
       unequaled
       extinction
        machine
         pushing
          strollers through
           ecosystems of
        concrete and plastic
we camel through the journey
  with our new playbook for
     where plunging hands go
                        don’t be weird
                     about this
                   you can be a
                 bride of
               poetry
              too

As you can see, neither poem above is left-aligned, another “rule” we were given for this week’s work. 

Third Poem for the Catastrophe
By Joyelle McSweeney

O
melting rainbow that embrace this roof
O
persistent covenant
hangs around
giving us nothing, leaves its muck in the water
expects us to be knocked out by its fine colors
weren’t you nothing too, weren’t you
sea bottom
crunched down into fuel
and when that eggshell roof busts through
mama’s gonna buy you
a rainbow ride for free
an illumination, an inflammation
hyperion flame headdress
dream pins in the fuel
balloons of Koolaid burst down to cool
the sticky baby’s head
plus a credit card a glock a new bible
a princess dress
a mermaid princess dress
so you’ll be twice submerged
or an erased Indian princess
pajama set now go to sleep

Bureau of

This is the body of,
waiting to turn on.

graced with a little tremor,
a little-known form, a fibrous hook,
a flimsy lever that makes the jar work

a lever and a clasp

:voila. The pathetic filofax
unfurls, the owl describes;
on air; makes an apse; lopes left

off the phonepole, woodenly.
we rise above the wind park,
commemorially.

our whorled fossil, pinned open.
our emergency kit
holds aspirin. digitalis. adrenalin-in-in.

So, yeah, I said they seemed drug-induced and made no sense. For one thing, the last poem starts a line with a colon 😒😒. Poetry is mainly for the poet, and I am all for that expression and them writing whatever they want, but I am certainly not required to like it or be encouraged to emulate it and “learn” from it. If I can say a movie makes no sense (and in a lot of instances, I am not the only one who feels that way), I can say a poem makes no sense, because, let’s face it; a lot of them do not. If they make sense to the one writing it, that is fine; great, even. Good for them. But do not belittle me or my intelligence and opinion solely because it does not align with yours. If this is “contemporary,” I will wholeheartedly pass.

Featured image: https://poemanalysis.com/poetry-explained/elements-of-poetry/

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Oh, Romeo — Nomeo!

I should be working, so of course another blog post! For school, dropping to half-time would halve my grant (money you don’t have to repay), so I am sticking to full-time 😒. That wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t required to take Shakespeare. Now, I get it; the guy (there is a debate whether Shakespeare was more than one person but we will go with the singular) was a genius and super talented and came up with the best stories and poems, but the old English just stumps me to the point that I need translation.

There are some choices for this class requirement but Shakespeare is actually the lesser of the evils offered, to me, anyway. I cannot remember what the others are, but I think one is Renaissance 😒. Plus, I was taking Shakespeare when my brother died and I could not deal at the time, so I have a UF (unfinished, I think is what that means), and retaking the class will improve my GPA.

My other class is an intermediate poetry workshop, so I am guessing it is a step up from the class I am finishing up on Sunday, and both classes are 300 level, which is for third years, so more writing and stricter grading. Adam has decided to go with fiction writing as his concentration, I believe, although he is pre-registered for a poetry workshop and a fiction workshop. I can never think of middles and ends for my stories and I have always written poetry, but not really any short stories. I’ve started “novels” that I eventually abandoned; that was mostly when I was obsessed with RL Stine.

My poetry workshop professor is giving me publishing resources and encouraging me to submit, but I am on the fence about that. Most don’t mention the royalty percentages, but one did and it was only 10%. Going my preferred route, I will get 70% or 75%. Of course, going through a publisher would give me more exposure, but it would also take away a lot of my freedom with formatting, editing, cover art, and who knows what else.

I’m also totally waffling with my site. I just can’t get the color scheme and image how I want it. I started out with the neon colors, which were cool, but when I decided to switch things up, I couldn’t decide what to go with. Should I use my book cover (willow tree)? Use Grandma’s painting print that I love (previous image)? Keep the image I have now? I seem to have entered a manic phase and that always involves lots of changes and me never feeling 100% satisfied. I was going to say I’m a total tweaker, but that doesn’t mean the same thing to other people as it does to me 🤣🤣. I can never leave things alone if I’m not totally “feeling” them.

Neville has started some scent training, and it is going surprisingly well. He is almost too smart for his own good. We’ve been using clove as the scent, and I take Nev into Mom’s room while Adam hides the hex bag. He then smells Adam’s hand and Adam says, “Go find it!” and he takes off and finds it. We’ve had to limit him to one room or he goes all over the house. When Adam re-hides the bag, Neville goes right to where he found it before 🤣. During potty breaks, Adam scents a stick and throws it in the yard and Neville has to find it. He has picked up the wrong stick a couple of times and knew they were the wrong ones, so put them down and grabbed the correct ones!

One day, I left my phone on the bed and came over to the computer, but I started worrying that Neville would get it and tear it up just to be a jerk (he tends to do that), so I turned my chair around, pointed to the phone on the bed, and said, “Pick it up!” and when he figured out what I was pointing to, he picked my phone up, jumped off the bed, and brought it to me without chewing on it or biting it 😊. I was so proud of him!

Once, when I was fiddling around in Mom’s bathroom, I handed him my phone so I could do something, and he sat there with it in his mouth until I asked/motioned for it back. He looked a bit confused as to why I was handing it to him but I wanted to see if he would take off with it or just hold it. I haven’t read up on teaching him to hold things yet. I know his parents have lots of ribbons and medals for retrieving, and part of that is holding what they retrieve without eating it or running away with it. I always see paintings of labs in duck hunting settings and I know they don’t get to eat the duck as a reward 🤣.

Lately, he has been ringing the potty bell in Mom’s room whenever he wants to play or leave the room. Adam comes in to talk after I wake up, and Nev will stand in the doorway and ring the bell and look up at him. I can’t help laughing when he does that, but he does it several times while we’re talking. He gets very jealous when Adam and I are in the same room.

I think I shared this before but that’s the bell. I can’t post the video because WP wants me to upgrade to do that.
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Welcome to My Electric Lab

Something is up with Neville today! I took my notebook to bed this morning so I could write but I fell asleep pretty quickly thanks to Xanax. I didn’t think to get it off the bed because Neville has not been bothering my iPad which I keep on the bed. He got a hold of my notebook and tore it to smithereens, which I thought he was chewing on one of his bones. I love that notebook. It is pink and purple and has butterflies on it. My now-deceased uncle got me two of them after my dad died in 2012.

Later, I go to pee (just feet away from Neville, who is on a long lead) and he starts screaming like someone broke all his bones, so I start yelling for Adam because I think Nev got stuck. Adam doesn’t hear me but he comes to see why Nev is crying and then starts fussing at him 🙄🙄, because that’s helpful. Neville runs into the bathroom, sits down between my legs, and is shaking like a leaf. (That’s an odd saying.) I lean over (still on the toilet) and hug him, trying to calm him down. Then, he pees while sitting there. Between my legs. While I’m on the toilet and hugging him.

When I left the room to go pee, Neville had decided to tear up another cord (he already ruined the end to my Dyson), and since there weren’t any lying around, he grabbed the heavy-duty extension cord that was plugged into the wall. It must have gotten him good because the cord was several feet away from the outlet. I ordered an outlet cover, which I didn’t know even existed for cords; I have only seen covers that plug into empty sockets so kids won’t stick their fingers in them.

I don’t know who peed in his Cheerios that morning but he was on a mission to be destructive and definitely FAFO’d. I hope he remembers what happened and stays away so something worse won’t happen. I have had the bidet plugged in before getting him and he never bothered the cord before but he was in a mood or something. Oh, he is acting fine and his usual self. His mouth and tongue look okay and he is as goofy and adorable as ever.

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Pick it Up

Well, Nev and I have made up for the moment. He’s been carrying around and chewing on a 1- to 2-inch piece of bone that’s all that is left of a ham bone I got him, so I ordered three bones from Tractor Supply. I thought they might last him a while. They get here, and Adam wants me to come see one of them and wonders if I knew the size when I ordered it.

This bone is huge!! 😂😂 It is called a mammoth bone, but with shrinkflation and companies being so untruthful, I wasn’t expecting much. It is a foot (12 inches) long and the ends are bigger than Nev’s head. He has already removed the ends and cleaned them of meat and tissue so they are white as a bleached bone. I really hate that he feels hungry all the time. I know it must feel awful for him to think he is starving when he’s not. Hopefully, the bones will help him feel full.

We started working on “pick it up” yesterday, in which he picks up whatever I point to and gives it to me. He is doing really well at not running off with it or chewing it. Adam has been giving him things to bring to me and says, “Take it to Mommy,” and he is doing great with that, too. He even brought me a big soft pretzel stick in an open paper bag and didn’t try to keep it or eat it. Twice! He did this without knowing he was going to get to eat them. He brings me my insulin after Adam gets it out of the fridge.

So, with “pick it up,” that’s been fun 🤣🤣. He has been getting steak or steak fat that I don’t eat as a treat during training. When we are done with the session, he gets out of his chair and finds things on the floor to give me. He has given me my socks at least ten times. I take them off and put them on the floor beside my chair. He usually does not see me do this, so he must think I am supposed to have them.

I try not to give him a treat when he does this, but he looks so cute and proud of himself and just looks at me and patiently waits. How can I not? If it’s trash, like receipts I ball up for the cats, he just gets thanked and patted on the head. He also looks around on my desk and hands me things from it 🤣. He gave me a screwdriver I had on the desk, which I did give him a treat for because he didn’t try to eat it. He is a very smart cookie.

Two more weeks left of classes, then I think I have another poetry workshop, which is intermediate 😬. I dropped back down to one class for next term because the workshop is pretty intense and time-consuming. My literary theory professor really liked my PowerPoint presentation, which I was nervous about and did not check the feedback for over a week. Adam is switching majors to my major (English and creative writing). I don’t know if he is going to concentrate in poetry like me or go with general fiction.

I did tell him I would not tolerate it if he published before I do, which I was very serious about. I have wanted to be a published author since I was little, and if he just turns around and does it ahead of me I will be furious. I’m not sure why he is switching from computer science to English. The boy can’t even touch type! He is a total hunt-and-pecker. My publication deadline is in November of this year. I wanted to make sure I had enough time for school and revisions.