See this is what goes through my head:
What if the last kid to leave in the morning doesn’t shut the front door properly and it blows open and I’m sleeping and the dogs run out…and then Lucky gets captured by a nice person somewhere but Hoover doesn’t because he’s old and can get aggressive if he’s scared and in my F.E.A.R.* scenario the person who tries to capture him grabs him by the collar and Hoover slips out of it and runs away. Then he’s out there in the world, scared and lost with no identification and then he gets hit by a car…
- Madison is the last kid to leave the house and she’s as paranoid as I am so I highly doubt this scenario would happen to begin with.
- Hoover and Lucky have gotten out many times before and they A) stick together and B) usually just go around the block or down the trail sniffing trees etc. and then they come back. Hoover will actually paw at the front door to be let back in.
- They’re wearing 2 ID tags each and neither of them have slipped their collars ever. Harnesses yes, but not collars.
- No one would want either one of them so if they were at someone’s house, we’d either be notified pretty quickly (which has happened in the past) or if they ended up in the pound or if posters went up, we’d know pretty quickly that way too.
AKA THERE’S NO REASON TO BE SCARED BECAUSE NOTHING HAPPENED AND EVEN IF SOMETHING DID HAPPEN IT WOULD PROBABLY BE OKAY.
This whole train of thought was brought on by a gust of wind blowing toward my house and the front door, which is right beside me, creaked.
But at least now I know shit like that is stupid whereas a year ago, three years ago, I would have called Blake at work crying about it. That’s the Cognitive Behavioural Therapy starting to work, I think.
Also? I’m not giving much of a fuck lately about “wasting” days like I used to be obsessed with. The only pressure I had on me to be productive to a problematic degree was the pressure I put on myself. And that’s dumb. I mean, I’m still productive, but it’s not a bad day just because I didn’t create something. There’s no crying over spilled milk. Blake and my shrink have been trying to get me to realize this for literally years but it didn’t sink in until now.
Yesterday Blake was working from home and then he had to be in Barrie, which is 1/2 an hour away (but 40 minutes if you’re not sure where you’re going) in the afternoon and we had like, NO food in the house. Not a huge deal normally but after his appointment in Barrie, he was just going to stay there for his French class and Madison would be with him, which meant Wes and I were on our own for food and our options were like, eggs and grilled cheese, which I knew neither of us wanted. Also, Blake picked me up homemade mushroom soup from Fresh-A-Fare but we didn’t have any crackers sooooooooooooo I was like, “fuck this, I’m going to the store, do you need anything?” Blake said “nope, have fun! you have 35 minutes!”. I popped 2 clonazepam and put 2 Ativan under my tongue and not ONLY did I drive to the grocery store all by myself, but I warded off a panhandling teenager who looked like he was sick or something, he was like a zombie; talked to the ladies at the deli and ordered deli meat and I did the checkout and THEN drove home, brought everything in and put everything away, all by myself, – well before the 35 minutes was up. ~*curtsey*~
I still obviously have massive issues, but in my own way, I’m still making strides, even if they aren’t all outwardly visible.
(* False Evidence Appearing Real)
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