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Sunday, January 5, 2014

All the Nuts aren’t with The Pancake’s Part 3

Everywhere I go, the puppies are sure to follow. Imagine one giant, fighting, barking, swirling mass of extreme cuteness swirling behind me wherever I go. It may take the puppies a half an hour to follow me down the stairs to the basement and an hour to get back up the stairs. 

It is so cute to watch them stumble and bumble over each other to follow me, so my annoyance wanes.

It seems that when Bill and George were together, they decided to raise Boston terrier pups to sell to make extra money. They shared the mother and had her mate with another breeders dog. When Bill and George split, Bill threw a hissy fit, took the mother and the pups and went to his Mom’s house. Now that Bill has returned, they have agreed to start their business venture again. Each pup’s starting price is $600.00.

It seems that everywhere I step, a puppy has marked that spot with either Number 1 or 2. The house quickly smells like a petting zoo. Unfortunately, I am the only person who this seems to bother because I pick up after the dogs all the time. Unfortunately for me their favorite spot to relieve themselves, seems to be my bedroom.

Remember I don’t have a door just a curtain to keep noise and puppies out.

I am now even more exhausted than I have ever been before. The puppies keep me awake day and night. I have taken to wearing dark sunglasses that hide my eyes in Helen’s class but my snoring betrays me. In an effort to stop my snoring, Helen raps a ruler on my desk causing me to jump. She then asks me to stand and recite The Wreck of the Ancient Mariner, and then asks me what it means to have an “Albatross around ones neck.”

Five minutes into my explanation I am saved by Helen and her impromptu story about her husband and the curse of Tutankhamen. Thank god for her foggy brain. I quickly sit down in my chair in case I jog her memory that she asked me to stand and talk about the Albatross.

Somewhere in Helen’s head she has a brilliant idea; she wants me to be the editor of a book that the English Department puts out yearly with various students work in it.
She thinks that I am exhausted from studying my English Lit book late into the night and reminds me “How hard it is to be a dancer.”

“Oh Joy!” I think when she asks me to meet with her later to discuss my participation.

Acting class is not going much better. During daily improv I am asked to be an animal. I choose to be a sponge so I can lie on the floor and not move. This begins a ridiculous argument with my acting teacher about may lack of respect for him and whether a sponge is really an animal. It’s true I think that I have developed a lack of respect for my acting teacher but I am just too tired to care.

I have also signed up for a physiology and anatomy class, which meets on Tuesday/Thursday’s. I can’t remember which way the blood pumps or any of the names of the various bones, veins and muscles and I don’t care. My brain is becoming a mash.

After class I run to get a quick nap before heading to my full time job on the Graveyard Shift. The puppies follow me down the basement stairs where we all pause on the landing. I can hear a knocking on the wall coming from George’s room. It isn’t in a rhythm but sounds like someone heard me come home and is trying to get my attention.


To be continued…….

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

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