And it is almost Friday again. This week seemed to be on an up note. I was scheduled for an interview at Oxygen Media - granted it was for the paid internship I was griping about - but a job interview is a job interview. I'd also applied for a writing gig on a cooking show and I was actually asked to submit a sample script. Unfortunately, the roof fell in right afterwards. Sometimes I think God gives me a dose of good news to keep my ship afloat when I'm hit with a dose of bad news. One of my family's dogs, Little Lady, had to be put to sleep Monday night. We'd fooled ourselves into thinking her illness was temporary and at the best manageable, but it was not to be the case. Little came into our lives when I was 13 years old and was a ball full of energy. Her tail never stopped wagging - almost like a humming bird's wings - you almost couldn't see it, it moved so fast. And her ability to worm her way into your heart, even if you were piping hot mad. We called her our little monkey and commented on how she should've been in the circus for all the tricks she could do. My dad always said she'd wear her motor out one day with her go, go, go attitude. I guess we'd hoped it wouldn't happen so soon.

In Loving Memory of Dee Dee

By Wackiki Wabbit
All rights belong to the author. This story may not be copied, printed, posted, performed, or otherwise used without the express written consent of the author.

She was held gently. Supported by loving arms and hands, careful not to pinch or squeeze her already delicate skin. The fullness of her shape had vanished, eaten by disease. It left only bone and those peering black eyes. She looked scared. This was not her home. And perhaps she knew that home would never be graced by her footsteps again. I held her head in my hands. I massaged her face. I whispered to her in an attempt to soothe her fears. The pain she'd hid for so long had always been reflected if only we'd seen past our selfish need for eternity. When the liquid hit her veins, she looked slightly surprised but soon realized it was for the best. The tears of those who loved her drenched her now quiet body, trying to wash away their sorrow.

So here it is - another Monday in the great world of the unemployed one. No matter how I try to craft my cover letters and regardless of my letters of recommendations, I still can't even land an interview. Almost four years out of college, what might I be able to get a job as - an intern. Frustrating and depression will never fully express my emotions at the mere possibility of having to take something like that.

At least my dog may be on the mend. $200 more dollars in the hole, but the hope that at least she'll be a happy dog again and even better healthy.

Another rainy day in the otherwise "lovely" area known as Bergen County. I'm sitting here listening to my boyfriend snore in the bedroom. I'm sure I'm not the only one out there who thinks of this as an annoying habit. Poking, yelling, and elbowing don't seem to deter the noise he makes whilst sleeping. I always thought it was so bright in California - too sunny and glaring for the eyes - and I reveled in the few grayish days we had in Los Angeles. But being back in the land of seldom sun, I miss the brightness of those days. Leaving my apartment and just knowing it would be a good day when I saw the mountain as I drove up Sierra Bonita towards Sunset. Winding around Cahuenga, feeling the cool air blow through my windows. The air conditioning of work always saved me from the dry heat of the rest of the day, but those early mornings and late evenings were peaceful and cool. Almost perfect. I miss it more than words can describe.

My dog lays at my feet while I type this. She's become much more attached to me since losing her precious eyesight. I don't know what's worse watching her slip into depression or knowing all the things I let her miss out on seeing with those beautiful brown eyes. Those brown eyes will never be seen again. Her pupils have dilated until the color is a faint circle surrounding them and a slight shadow is thrown across the whole picture. Something I'm told will worsen as time goes on. I do the only thing that truly helps - I provide her with love. Hugs when she's happy, rubs when she's sad, and comfort when she gets disorientated. If only I knew this would happen, but can I really say it would've made a long term difference in the quality of care she's gotten - I'll never find out.