Morning Whispers & Evening Sighs
The alarm went off this morning and I jolted awake, wide-eyed. I don’t even remember falling asleep—one of those nights where it feels like you just closed your eyes, only to be yanked back into reality too soon. No dreams I can recall, just an empty stretch of nothingness. I groaned, reached for my phone, and smacked the snooze button. I wasn’t ready to face the day.
But apparently, my dogs were.
They came charging out from the bedroom, tongues lolling, eyes bright, tails wagging with an urgency I knew all too well. Bathroom break. The rainstorm last night had lulled us all to sleep earlier than usual, the pitter-patter on the trailer roof a soft lullaby. We skipped their normal evening routine and snuggled instead, so this morning their unspoken message was clear: “Mom, we held it all night. Time to go. Now.”
I reluctantly peeled myself out of my recliner and shuffled to the door.
When I opened it, the world was pitch black—so dark you could barely make out the outline of one trailer against another. After all, it was 4:30 a.m. The night still belonged to the evening creatures. The trees rustled, and somewhere in the distance an owl sang its haunting whoo-whoo. The dogs froze, ears perked, eyes scanning. Satisfied it was safe, they dove nose-first into the dirt, pine needles, and cones until they each found the perfect spot to relieve themselves.
Something flew overhead then—silent, shadowed, and close enough that I could hear the air beating beneath its wings. Owl? Bat? Some other phantom of the night? The darkness swallowed it whole. I whispered a silent plea that the dogs wouldn’t break the magic with their barking. Miraculously, they didn’t.
Back inside, reality hit me again: the water was still shut off. And I desperately needed a shower, not just to wash off yesterday but to shock my sleepy mind and body into starting this day that had arrived far too soon.
The dogs, thrilled with their unexpected pre-dawn adventure, were rewarded with an early breakfast. While they scarfed down their gourmet meal like they hadn’t eaten in weeks, I turned the water back on and slipped into the shower. The hot water—or let’s be honest, lukewarm at best—ran over my shoulders, loosening muscles that were stiff from too little sleep and too much lupus pain.
I closed my eyes and let the water trickle down my face. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, I coached myself. It felt so good, I didn’t want to leave. But then the telltale sound of gurgling and the rising pool at my feet reminded me: I never hooked up the poop shoot. The grey tank was clearly full, and this was its not-so-subtle way of announcing, Hey genius, time to adult. Why am I like this? I thought.
With a reluctant sigh, I shut the water off and stepped out, only to find I wasn’t alone. Two sets of wide eyes and toothy doggy grins stared up at me. My audience. My biggest fans. My little pervs.
I quickly dressed and threw on some makeup so I didn’t look half-dead. The sun rash on my face had flared up, no doubt thanks to Friday’s battle with the sway bar from hell. I brewed my caffeinated bliss—four shots today instead of two. Excessive? Maybe. But it was the butt crack of dawn, and I had a two-hour drive ahead of me.
I packed up the babies and off we went.
It felt strange being out here so early. Normally at this hour the city would be buzzing with people, traffic, and neon-lit chaos. But here it was different—majestic, still, silent and loud all at once. I didn’t have time to truly soak it in, though. I had to go.
As we drove toward the city, away from the quiet of the woods, the roads grew crazier, the sky grew brighter, and the haze of pollution became painfully clear. The sunrise didn’t look magical—it sat over the skyline like a cloud of doom.
My first stop was my bestie’s shop, the only groomer/boarder I trust with my not-so-angel angels. With the dogs safely tucked in, I headed to work. The day was long—back-to-back meetings with only thirty minutes to scarf down lunch. Thankfully, it was tacos. My favorite. Tacos make everything better.
And as I sat there with my cilantro-and-onion-loaded tacos, my mind wandered to the poor souls cursed with the genetic defect that makes cilantro taste like soap. I whispered a silent prayer of thanks that I was not one of them—because tacos without cilantro? Not a world I want to live in.
The day buzzed by, one meeting after another, until five o’clock when my frontal lobe felt like it was melting—and not in a good way. I let out a sigh of relief as the last meeting wrapped, then hurriedly packed up my laptop bag and headed out to pick up the fur babies.
They’d had a great day with their Auntie—videos and pictures of their escapades filled my phone. Being the lunatic she is, she took them for a run together. Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t end up in the hospital. Some say brave. I say out of her mind. But I was grateful. With me being sick and the chaos of moving, the dogs hadn’t had much exercise, so their tails wagged happily as I scooped them up.
We made the long trek home, back toward the blessed woods. Once we were free of the city and its endless honking, swerving, and desperate drivers trying to get one car ahead, everything shifted. The roads softened, the sky stretched wide, and the world quieted. I watched the clouds play across the sky, changing colors as the sun sank lower, and my heart softened too.
All I wanted now was to be home, out of my work clothes, wrapped in the comfort of my moomoo PJ dresses. Truth is, I’d live in them if I could. Pants? Hate them. Shoes? Torture. Who am I kidding—I’d be naked most of the time if I could get away with it. There’s nothing better than feeling the air against my skin. Weird, I know. But after a day like today? It’s freedom.
I fed the babies and then got into my recliner to eat and sleep. Odin sat like a good boy, waiting patiently for his invitation to snuggle. He climbed up, gave me a wet-nose Eskimo kiss as if to say thank you, and then melted into the chair with me.
My mind wandered to tomorrow—another long day onsite. Actually, four more days onsite. Pure driving torture. Oh, and the truck—wishing I had a little car with a little gas tank right now. Of course, as soon as I move two hours away, suddenly everything happens and I have to be onsite. What karma did I rack up in this or my last life for this little twist? Lol.
Oh well, I told myself, I do love my job and the people I work with. For a career, I chose a life of service. It’s hard doing for others, but it’s healthy for the heart and soul. I don’t know how the frontline folks do what they do—it’s amazing. One good thing, though? At least I have the perfect excuse for why I didn’t make it to Lowe’s today. I can deflect my lack of adulting motivation right onto work. And with that thought, I smiled to myself. Time for bed.
Lessons of the Day
1. Dogs are the universe’s most reliable alarm clocks—especially when bladders are involved.
2. If you forget the poop shoot, your shower will remind you in the rudest possible way.
3. Dogs don’t understand personal space—they believe shower time is family time.
4. Four shots of espresso before sunrise is not excessive—it’s survival.
5. Cilantro isn’t just a garnish, it’s proof that the universe love us.
6. Best friends/Aunties who run your dogs together without the zappy are equal parts hero and lunatic!
7. The woods heal the soul; the city melts the brain. Choose wisely.
8. Moomoo dresses are not fashion—they’re a lifestyle, a rebellion against pants.
9. Sometimes karma looks less like enlightenment and more like a two-hour commute with a giant gas tank.
10. Blaming work for skipped Lowe’s trips? That’s not procrastination—that’s strategy.
