I admit that, in my family, I am known to be a hypochondriac. I’m not sure that my ailments are as imagined as my family members seem to believe they are, but fine, most of the time that I think I am dying, I am not in fact dying. That said, I have been suspecting for awhile that I have what is referred to as “The Six Month Disease,” and evidence continues to point to its existence, this illness raging in my body.
Symptoms of the Six Month Disease flare up every, say, 6 months – hence the name. Very complex, as you can see. Some such symptoms include:
- Wanting big life changes
- Creating big life changes
- Whining about what changes one could make in one’s big life
- Begging for cute things
It should be noted that much of this occurs within the context of one’s intimate relationship. I may have been infected long before my current relationship existed, but it is only in the past couple of years that it has been pointed out to me that I have this disease.
November 2007: I joined roller derby.
Six months later brings us to April 2008: I fall hard for a lovely lady, one Ms. Turtle McTurtleson.
Aaaand six months minus just one day takes us to one Sterling Animal Shelter, where I ogle lots of puppies and fall in love with “Luna” (see Case A). We celebrate our six month-iversary, and I pick “Luna” up from the shelter the next day.
Yes, that is a smiley-face made out of dog kibble, and we are making her practice "wait." Look at her cute forehead wrinkles!
About six months after that, I convince Turtle that we need a kitten. I guess the true-r version of the story is that I go to therapy, talk about how miserable my job at a rape crisis center is making me, and tell her that the only thing that makes me feel happy is thinking about kittens. She tells me to go ahead and get a kitten! Why not? They’re wonderful like chocolate bars, except you don’t eat them so they last forever! Or some such gem. I tell Turtle that I have been prescribed a kitten. We adopt the Finnster.
Aaaaand six months after that little fluffball enters our lives, we decide, all officially and stuff, to get married. That was last October.
This morning, Turtle asked me how long it’s been since we got engaged. As of today, it’s been five months and 10 days. “Nearly six months,” she pointed out.
And omg I want a puppy.
So really: we’re getting this new apartment, and we’re going to have twice as much space as we do now. Literally. And we’re going to have a fenced in yard. AND we will be living right next to a dog park! AAAAND this week we petsat for a young dog and she and Daphne had so much fun together!
All of this points to I will probably die if I don’t get a puppy.
Right? I mean, I guess other options are just wait it out… maybe something else big and exciting will happen at this 6-month mark. And I know we don’t want a puppy before we get married. And I know our new landlord will probably freak out if I say, “We have a dog, two cats, and can we get a puppy in ten minutes?” And Turtle said we can get a puppy in five years, which is down from the previous 8, which was down from the 10 she was saying before that.
Searching Petfinder is a dangerous thing to do.
Does anyone else get restless like this? I’m not sure it’s restlessness, maybe it’s a desire for a new adventure. A new thing? Well, I’m starting a printmaking class next Monday so maybe this will postpone my puppy dreams. Some people get baby cravings… I get puppy cravings. I probably always will.