I woke up this morning with every intention of going to the grocery store since I somehow managed, in the four straight days I had off from work, to not set foot in a grocery store, aside from the salsa con queso Kate Shea and I picked up on Sunday.

Man, that was some good processed cheese product.

But, you know, as soon as the alarm went off, Glinny raced to my bed and jumped up, nuzzled her nose into my arm and then, as she does every morning, slammed her entire body down on top of me to be cuddled and cooed at because, well, she's Glin. It's just what happens around here in the morning.

So she went outside for a while and then we came back in, played tug with her dolls, chased the ball around the apartment and settled in for some rawhide chewing. I began just absentmindedly petting her back as she chewed, telling her what a good dog she is, and thought about, once again, how happy I was that she was my dog. Yesterday at the dog beach, despite her spate of pushy behavior, she was so well-behaved and so agile, out in the water, play after play, fetching her tennis balls.

She's a beautiful, graceful dog, I thought to myself. A little crazy sometimes, but certainly a lovely pup. No sooner was I sitting here, reflecting on my neat little dog, did Glin come into the office to sit at my side, loyal thing that she is.

"Aren't you just the prettiest thing," I asked, petting her head, leaning to kiss her snout.

"BEEELLLLAACCCCHHH," she replied, complete with the undigested, awful stench of her morning helping of Purina One.

This is what I get for romanticizing that dog. Belched in the face.

So in a few hours I head off to work, back to the grind, which is just fine by me. However, something to note for me is that this is the first little "mini vacation" I've taken for myself where I actually relaxed. I think that says something about the state of things, that I can leave my job for a few days and not be stressed about doing so. I don't know that I was ever able to take a vacation without feeling an impending sense of doom hovering over me.

I'm bummed about a few things - Virgina Tech, David Halberstam, the weather getting chilly again, Sheryl Crow (for her "battle" with Karl Rove as much as those horrible ads she's doing for Revlon) - but really, going back to work isn't one of them. I've realized with each passing year that I crave order and routine, and I tend to have the emotional equivalent of bloating when I don't, which is to say that I can go about my day but I feel awfully uncomfortable doing so.

Really, work is like a Diurex for my soul, people.

Posted by Erin at 07:44 AM | filed under: Odds and ends