Jazz Fest is upon us. I have a love - hate relationship with the Fest. I love the excitement and the music and the food, but I hate the people. I just realized, that last sentence describes every area of my life. Fucking people. They are so hard to peg and read. First they save your ass and then they kick it.
Mike's father died last month and his mother went into a home. They are my in-laws, the parents of my husband and we are stuck with their dog, who has no name. It does, however, have 100 million fleas per square inch, a giant head and tiny legs, and I think may also be bi-polar.
Sadly, we will probably end up taking it to the SPCA because we already have two dogs and a baby and adding one more dog will break the camel's back - the world will stop spinning on its axis and all the people will fly off. Or at least it feels that way.
But I feel guilty about the dog. More guilty about the dog than the mother in the home, oddly. Or maybe not so oddly since people are so perplexing and dogs are usually pretty straight forward and easy to please. A bowl of water and a bowl of chow are pretty easy needs to fulfill each day.
I need people, I connect to the universe and tap into the source via my relationships with people, but it is so hard. I am an amateur in this game. I am not a rock. I am too soft in the middle.