More Than I Could Chew

September 17, 2008 at 9:30 AM

“Hey, remember me?” It was Ben. He was pissed now, and glared at me from the corner. Without pausing from my work, I lent him an ear as he continued. “No forget that. Remember you? Remember last year, when you used to take me hiking every day? We used to go outside, remember? You used to run and climb, and scale tall peaks, and think creative thoughts and the like. Now look at you, stooping over the ground, gluing rocks to the floor. All day long. Every day. This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I had to admit, my dog had a point. Yes, there was the symphony repertoire to practice. Yes, that October art show was far from finished. And yes, the mountains threatened snow more sincerely by the day. But how was I supposed to have known the literal speed of grout? At this rate, I might not ever finish, but it was too late for second thoughts now. As I reached for the trowel, I heard an exasperated sigh. Was that Ben, or was that me?

From Laurie Niles
Posted on September 17, 2008 at 3:36 PM

Poor doggy, poor Emily. But you will have such a lovely new floor for the winter, yes? :)

From Jim W. Miller
Posted on September 18, 2008 at 3:56 AM

I heard the indians thought what happens to you in the afterlife is determined by how you treat the animals. Probably not wild murderous indians. Not the indians who to paraphrase Jefferson known method of warfare is indiscriminate slaughter of men women and children.
:)

From Drew Lecher
Posted on September 18, 2008 at 6:06 AM

Take a walk and finish the next section of floor afterward—for Ben's sake and yours!!! :-)

From Michael Steele
Posted on September 19, 2008 at 5:11 AM

Your second picture is quite clever. I thought the phrase was "going at a snail's pace." Going at a slug's pace works just as well.

From Emily Grossman
Posted on September 19, 2008 at 9:12 AM

Unfortunately, I found the poor guy shriveled up in a crevice the next day, having run out of options and unable to backtrack. I don't know how his demise contributes to the outcome of my afterlife, though, nor whether his death is in any way symbolic or prophetic to my own. Having thought about it, I would like to disclaim any connections and further disassociate any future conclusions one might draw from this incident. Thank you.

From Jim W. Miller
Posted on September 19, 2008 at 10:50 AM

Y'all are depressed because it's not 40 below.

From Terez Mertes
Posted on September 19, 2008 at 4:45 PM

What a great post. Loved the pics too.

From Emily Grossman
Posted on September 20, 2008 at 7:11 AM

Nah, we're not depressed at all. It's life as usual here in Alaska: forecast is rain, rain, rain, snow, and Sarah for veep.

Heheh.

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