56 hours and counting.

I calculated that it's about 56 hours or so until the idiot dog goes home. Granted, I've never been very good at math so it may not be 56 hours. I just hope that it's less and not more.

Last night was the best night so far. Apparently, I did a great job of tiring out the dogs this weekend. They slept all night last night... or at least, they didn't wake me up except for once. At about 2:30am I woke up to Nora barking ever so quietly. Timmy wakes up and starts to bark. I try to grab them both and calm them down because the last thing I need is for them to get the other dog all riled up. Finally, I realize that they hear her moving around in her crate and that's why they are barking. I close the bedroom door to block out the crate noises and we all go back to sleep. I wasn't awaken again until the alarm went off this morning. Even then, I didn't get up. But Nora knew that I was supposed to get up and get moving. She licked my face so that I would get out of bed. I could still use about 3 more hours of sleep.

I think I am going to do a massive cleaning today. The plan is that I take a benadryl before I start cleaning so that my allergies don't kill me in the process. Then, I try to get as much done as possible before the benadryl knocks me out. I just took a benadryl this morning because of the nasty doggieness and dander floating around my apartment. And now, I'm tired. Sleepy rather. I think I could pass out and sleep for those 4 hours that it takes for the meds to get out of my system. When's nap time?

This past weekend, I watched 1 and a half football games. That's probably more than I've watched in one weekend since football season began. I only watched a half of one game because I was at the bar to drink. Not at the bar to watch football. Yippee, the ref was making strange motions. Something about a small waist or power to the people. I was much more involved in football season last year. I know that really, I could care less but I think a part of my dislike for it has to do with my relationship. If it was a relaxing thing, then I might enjoy football. But it's not relaxing to hang out with someone who is going to throw his phone across the room, pouting like a 4 year old, when his team loses. It's a damn game. Some win. Some lose. It just gets on my last nerve sometimes. It's not like someone died. It's not like it's a life changing situation. It's on tv (or in the stadium since he has season tickets to both of his teams). It's not affecting one's life personally. I mean, yeah, it made not look so great for the team that lost but it's not like there's not going to be another game next week. More men slapping each other on the ass. More cupping the balls of the guy in front of you. More slamming into others. More fatties throwing their weight around. More injuries. More stupid men in the making because of all the concussions they have suffered and will suffer. It's a game. Not something to pout and cry about.

And yes, maybe I just don't get it. Maybe I just don't have the same value for the game. But I just think that there are things in life that are so much more important. So much more relevant than football. Alas, this reasoning creates a rift between myself and people who are emotionally committed to the game. It's hard to be ok with it when you come second to a game. Still, I have dogs. He can have his fun. He can cry about his team losing. He can throw whatever the hell he wants to throw across the room. But I will continue to wake up to a beautiful day every morning with my puppy licking my face. She is the light of my day.