Whispers in the Pines & Swamp Cooler Dreams
Last night’s slumber carried me into a dream spun from starlight and silence. I wandered through an endless forest, down the road less traveled, where Robert Frost’s words floated like whispers stitched into the pines. My dogs padded alongside me, untethered, graceful, and impossibly well-behaved—and that’s how I knew I was dreaming.
We came upon an ancient tree, its trunk wide and welcoming, and I leaned into its steady heartbeat. The pups clambered onto me in a heap of fur and warmth, their familiar weight grounding me even in a dream. Needy little snuggle bugs—they cling to me in sleep just as fiercely as they do when I’m awake.
But then my alarm ripped me away. It felt like being yanked out of the comfort of home, my body and mind screaming nope as I hit snooze. Again. And again. My phone didn’t get the hint, but the dogs did. Wet noses, paw nudges, and determined little faces told me it was time to give up the dream world.
The moment I stood up, I knew it was going to be a rough morning. Pain vibrated from my elbows up into my shoulders, pulsing down through my hands and feet. Limping toward the door, I geared up the dogs for potty time and stared down the dreaded poop shoot I had been procrastinating on. At this point, it wasn’t optional—it was survival.
Outside, the sticky Texas heat wrapped around me like a punishment. My body screamed louder than my to-do list, so I made the call: I was going in late. Again.
It’s moments like this I feel the weight of guilt and scold myself for the intrusive thoughts. You know you do what needs to be done, I reminded myself. Last week you worked over your hours, and next week you’re pulling an overnight. Stop. This is not a reason to feel guilt.
It was drilled into me young: work hard, be early, and remember—if you’re not early, you’re late. Don’t do anything half-assed; do it right. And to be fair, that work ethic has gotten me far—every job I’ve ever had, I’ve been promoted. The downside? It’s exhausting. Honestly, if I poured half the effort into my personal life that I do into my job, I’d probably have a six-pack, a color-coded pantry, and maybe even a hobby that doesn’t involve collapsing in the recliner. But let’s be real—I don’t have that kind of energy.
I thought maybe my trusty compression socks and gloves could save me today. But then I remembered—the gloves I meant to replace weeks ago were still missing in action, victims of my procrastination. Of course, they were nowhere to be found, because “I’ll order them tomorrow” has a funny way of turning into forever. Why am I like this? I thought to myself, rolling my eyes at… well, myself. Regret hit me harder than the Texas heat. Sometimes it’s the smallest undone thing that trips you the hardest. For now, the socks will have to rise up and carry the team.
I don’t normally wear jeans to work, but since it’s Friday—and allowed—I reluctantly pulled on a pair. I really needed to wear tennis shoes with how my feet and ankles felt, and jeans were the only way to make them passable. I hate the way denim feels against my skin—stiff, scratchy, and irritating. But the second I slipped on my tennis shoes, it felt like magic. Instant relief. Thanks, Mooma, for the brand-new pair. The soft cushion cradled my aching feet, and the shade of pink even matched my shirt. A small win in a morning that started with losses.
I finally left the house two hours late, loading the dogs into the truck and driving them to their Auntie/Groomer/Boarder. I’m so thankful she opened a shop nearby my work—on long days, I can drop these “turds” off without worry. The drive was peaceful, almost meditative, though my body screamed at me the whole way to turn around and go home. But stubbornness won. Once the dogs were settled, I arrived at work fashionably late and was immediately swept into meetings—one after another—until the very end of the day.
I was thankful for the end of meetings and the end of my day. I picked the dogs up from their Auntie, exhausted and ready to be home. The pure joy on their faces made the day worth it—Freya’s whole body wiggled and vibrated as she squealed like a guinea pig, while Odin, more reserved but just as happy, jumped on me like a naughty boy. It’s hard to be mad when they’re that dang cute. Auntie had even painted Freya’s nails—she was a proper young lady now. Both pups smelled significantly better from their baths, and for once I didn’t see poofs of hair flying as they shook and wiggled around. Thank you, Auntie, for that little blessing.
Getting them into the truck was its own comedy. Freya, the daredevil, launched herself in with full-body wiggles, proud of her acrobatics. Odin, on the other hand, stretched lazily and waited for his maid—me—to lift his back legs in. He’s bigger and longer than Freya and could easily do it himself, but in his mind he’s a bougie little prince who expects to be carried. Spoiled? Absolutely. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
We high-tailed it to my parents’ house because the long-awaited swamp cooler had finally arrived. Tomorrow, I’ll get to test its magic in the gazebo when my sister and friend come over. With any luck, it’ll cool the space down enough to actually enjoy being outside. My trailer is super small, and hosting really needs to happen outdoors—but in Texas summer heat, the air feels too thick and hot to breathe, let alone relax.
I let myself daydream about mornings with coffee in hand, watching the world wake up from the comfort of my gazebo, my trusty swamp cooler keeping me alive. Evenings too—when the world slowly drifts off to sleep and I get to sit in the breeze without melting into a puddle. A lot was riding on this swamp cooler, and I was ridiculously excited to test it out.
I pulled up to my parents’ house just in time for the sky to completely lose its mind. And when I say lose its mind, I mean torrential rain, I don’t mean a drizzle or a polite sprinkle—I mean full-on sheets of water falling so thick I could barely see the car in front of me. It was like driving through a car wash without the fun rainbow soap.
Of course, that’s the exact moment I had to jump out and wrestle the swamp cooler into the truck. I managed a lightning-fast hug for my parents before stuffing the box in, but by the time I climbed back behind the wheel there wasn’t a square inch of me that wasn’t drenched. I looked like a soggy raccoon who had lost a fight with a garden hose. I peeled off as many layers as I could without risking a ticket for public indecency, then remembered the dogs’ pool towels sitting unused in the back seat. They hadn’t so much as dipped a paw in the pool a few weeks ago (so lame), but now their refusal was my win—instant makeshift dryer.
Once I escaped the storm and headed north toward sweet forest calm, the drama shifted. I cranked the music like a rebellious teenager and sang my lungs out to all the feminist greats. Windows up, rain streaking, me belting ballads like the star of my own soggy music video. I’m pretty sure anyone driving past thought I had officially lost it, and judging by the side-eye from my dogs, they agreed.
Finally, I rolled home, exhausted but thankful. Seeing my trailer nestled in the trees after a summer rain made my heart sing. The smell of rain and pine lingered in the air—refreshing, and a huge improvement from breathing in downtown pollution all day. I brewed a trusty cup of coffee—good ole faithful—and logged on with my gaming family. I did my gamerly good deed of mining resources and tearing cars apart in 7 Days to Die, but my eyelids started staging their own shutdown sequence. Before I floated off to blissful sleep, I wanted to finish writing about this messy, magical, ridiculous day.
Tomorrow, I really do need to make that Lowe’s run so I can finally fix the water leak outside. Just another errand on the never-ending list, but that’s life these days—equal parts magic, chaos, and curveballs. I guess that’s what keeps this midlife adventure interesting: just one more messy day.
Lessons of the Day
Dreams give us perfect dogs; mornings remind us why leashes exist.
Poop shoots wait for no one—especially not procrastinators.
Guilt weighs more than a bougie dog, but both demand to be carried.
Sometimes survival looks like magical new shoes and being late.
Jeans are just denim prisons for the skin.
Aunties who groom, paint nails, and de-fur dogs are unsung heroes.
Swamp coolers carry the weight of Texas summers and fragile human hope.
Torrential rain is basically nature yelling “surprise shower!”
Dreams remind us what’s possible; mornings remind us coffee is required.
Coffee, puppies, and pixelated zombie mining—sometimes that’s enough to call it a good day.
