as a way to break up the blog radio-silence…

…here is a story.

This morning I am trying to finish up this Simon figurine that has been giving me grief. I am maybe 20 hours in, after three attempts and forming him, and trying to get the paint job done before noon because I am meeting a co-worker to take Ella for a walk on the beach.  And, of course, I haven’t eaten, so I’m all kinds of crabby.  I went to bed at 3 am, and rolled out of bed about 9 am, straight into my computer chair and started painting.

And the dogs will not stop barking.  Another dog crosses a street in the next county, and they hurl themselves into the chair at the window, to stare out and look for other things to bark at.  And I have had about enough.  I am hungry, un-showered, irritated because the piece I’m doing has not been easy (and I have no patience, and can usually only be persuaded to do something if I know it will be easy), and annoyed I know I will run out of time before I have to leave… and then they all start barking like maniacs.  Every one, at full volume.

I yell at them a couple of times to shut up, but they don’t.  “Oh my God, SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” I scream shrilly, and hoist myself up to stomp out into the living room with great drama, to enforce the wrath…

…and there is a very well-dressed older lady at the screen door, clutching a Jehovah’s Witnesses brochure to her breast.

And I. Am. MORTIFIED.  I am grubby, in a white shirt with no bra, paint all over me, clutching a dog figurine with no eyes painted on yet.  There is a shelf behind me, full of other dog figurines (the ones that need to be sent out), and a vortex of barking dogs churning at my feet.  Yes, I think.  I in no way look like an insane person.

She says, “Oh, yes, I’m the reason they’re barking!” with a big, friendly smile, and starts in on her routine, which I can’t hear, for the barking, which has not abated in any way.  All I can think is:  Oh, please let this be over soon.

I wade though the bog of dog bodies and grab the pamphlet through the crack I open in the door, which the dogs are now trying to flood through, and must have looked like the angriest person she had ever seen.

“It looks nice,” she said cheerfully, of the figurine.

I mumbled a thanks and shut the door.


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