Hella Stella

Aah, the weekend wedding.

A good time had by all, especially me, three drinks in and drunk as fuck. I wrote "boobies!!" in the guest book. Not my proudest moment. But wandering down country roads with Andi, white-girl-dancing to TLC, and taking full advantage of the open bar was very nice. I slept like a log and had a nice drive home in a rented Toyota hybrid. It's quiet! Except when you accidentally drive with the emergency brake on.

Yeah.

Funny story: My BH and I left the puppy in the capable hands of his dad and little brother. They stayed at our place and looked after little Morty so we could enjoy the wedding. When we left for the weekend, Morty was all small and wiggly. Note. Small.

When we got home, a day and a half later, Morty was the size of a basketball.

He did not run up to meet us; he waddled over and grunted in our general direction. Without wanting to sound ungrateful, we asked if he had ingested, oh, say, a basketball. After a little to-ing and fro-ing, we realized that Morty had been accidentally fed the equivalent of about six meals instead of three. For the rest of the day, Morty made constipation noises and crapped in his crate at 3am this morning. Me? I look like a zombie, because I was still washing the poo off my puppy at 4am. He came to bed with me and drooled on my toes for the following two hours, at which point I gave up on sleep and made some tea.

I have that... Not so fresh feeling.

Still, despite all the poo, I feel good. There seems to be an underlying current of excitement in everything I do these days. I feel like something good is coming. Something really good.

Fall?

Cure for the Mystery Cough?

A full night's sleep?

ALL OF THE ABOVE?

The possibilities...