It’s easy with blogs to only write about the good things. But, in my view, blogs are the poorer for it. Life isn’t easy and it’s impossible to be happy all the time – no matter how good a writer you are.
In all honesty, I’m going through a bit of a ‘down’ period at the moment. There are a few reasons why, but I suspect the main is that I’m just tired. Which seems like a silly thing to say, but it’s true. I don’t mean ‘bit sleepy’ – one good nights sleep would sort that out. I mean burned out. Running on empty.
Everything seems worse at night, when you’re tired. And that’s how I’m feeling all the time at the moment.
Grumpy people at work causing problems is something I could probably shrug off if I was firing on all cylinders. But I’m not. So things like this lead to general rubbishness and tears. Over-analysing things people say and do is something I am prone to at the best of times – when I’m like this, I’m pretty convinced everyone hates me.
Yesterday, I got talking to our postman. Bit difficult when Mort is spraying our window with spittle as he barks furiously through the glass. “It’s really funny,” the postman said. “He only barks when you’re here. When I deliver post in the week, he just sits and stares at me.”
I closed the door quietly, thinking about what he had said. Mort, relieved that the man we had assumed was his arch-nemesis had retreated, sighed in relief and settled himself on my lap.
As I stroked his head, I realised something. When he barks, he’s not protecting himself. He’s not even protecting his property.
He’s looking out for me.
That’s why he barks at people from his perch in the living room. That’s why he barks at men who walk towards us, and dogs who try and say hello.
He only cares about me and Dan. He doesn’t care about putting himself in harms way, or drawing attention to himself. He’s got our backs. Even if he is, deep down, the worlds biggest wimp.
Loud noises scare him. He jumps at everything. He is terrified of anything he doesn’t understand.
So, as sweet as his protective instincts are, it also made me feel incredibly sad.
I need to reassure him that I can look after myself. That it’s my job to take care of him. That he can step down from his neighbourhood watch duties at the window.
It’s time to stop worrying, wallowing and being a wimp.
Mort needs to know I’ve got his back.