It’s Labor Day today, and I guess technically I should not be writing, because the blog, while a labor of love, still definitely requires work. These days it’s easier to think of the words than to get them on the page, so I wait for a burst of energy, type what I can and then switch to dictation, even though the sentences never quite come out right. Then there’s more typing to correct all the weirdness. It’s laborious for sure.

When I was gainfully employed in the publishing industry, I knocked out emails like it was the easiest thing in the world. Day and night, using those typing skills I’d first learned in 6th grade computer lab. Now I’m so behind in basic communication that it’s embarrassing. I should have an auto reply on my gmail and text platforms: “Sorry, I am unable to reply to your message in a timely fashion because I used all my energy to put my contact lenses in. And by the way, it didn’t even work; my husband ended up putting them in for me. I’ll try to get back to you at some point this month.” And then some emoticons: a kissy face, a surprised cat, a thumbtack, the Golden Gate Bridge. Just because.

Yes, dictation does work better, but it requires a level of privacy I do not currently enjoy. I can’t stand writing words from my mouth while people walk around the room pretending not to listen (and maybe actually NOT listening. I mean, what makes me think I’m so interesting?) Still, I get performance anxiety. I need a man cave.

The reason I am able to labor at the moment is because Rob took Scarlett and Otto to the beach. Otto is afraid of the water, and generally uninterested in wildlife, so he’s not exactly the outdoorsy hunting type we were expecting. Please note that I don’t care about this. I wasn’t planning on taking him hunting and I prefer him yawning at squirrels as opposed to spazzing out and barking every time one runs across our fence. Otto would prefer to chase Scarlett around, rip holes in her dresses with his vampire puppy teeth, and then rest for lengthy periods of time because it’s all just too much.

Last night as Rob was mid-Batman and Robin bedtime story (it’s obvious he was putting Scarlett to bed, right? I just want to make sure), Otto started clamoring at our back door to get in. I could hear the piercing shrieks I’ve come to associate with the neighborhood’s raccoons, giant radioactive animals that seem to have had fear bred out of them. Assuming all 30 pounds of Otto was under attack, I interrupted the bedtime story to save him (as in make Rob save him.) Later inspection suggests that the shrill noises may have been coming from my wheelchair, which is due for a tune up. But Otto reacted as if he had in fact been helicoptered out of harm’s way at the last possible second. Rob put him in my lap, where he snuggled in like an exhausted survivor and fell asleep for an hour. All 30 pounds of him. And I think it was the best part of my day.

The beach-goers have returned. They’re covered in sand, and Scarlett is wearing cat ears. She reports that Otto met some new friends and that he still hates the water. Scarlett loves the water, and she occasionally barks at squirrels, so I think we’re set between the two of them, snuggly dog and feral child. Snuggly child and vampire dog. Maybe those will be the emoticons at the ends of my emails explaining that instead of writing back to you, I spent my energy on this ridiculous post. Happy Labor Day!

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