Spooning the black dog
Today I woke up spooning the black dog. He’s not my dog. I don’t know where he comes from. It’s not unusual for him to come over in the afternoon. Sometimes he stays for a while if the weather is grey, but I really don’t like him spending the night and I really don’t like waking up with him in my bed. It’s not a good start to the day.
I wonder what it is about that black dog and why me? Why is it me he is so fond of?
Is it my bipolar he is attracted to? That’s a simple reason, but maybe too simple. Maybe he hangs around a little longer because of that. Maybe he bites at my heels a little more aggressively because of that, but I don’t think that’s entirely the reason.
What do black dogs love to do when they’re not being so miserable? They love to run! Not only do they love to run, but they love to run long and they love to run hard in quiet isolated locations.
I’ve been running long, very long. I am so tired and it seems, so is this black dog.
So he has made himself at home. I’m not sure for how long.
So if I seem a little cranky or forgetful at the moment, I’m not getting a lot of sleep with that dog on my bed.