I remember what Heidi said about visiting an animal shelter, and remember that I have always wanted a pet, but was never allowed to have one.
55. A pet
Okay, so maybe my goals got a little less goal-y at some point. Assuming they were ever really goal-y in the first place, considering the first forty-one are a list of fantasies and otherlascivious thoughts that will never be said aloud, lest the PG rating on our love story go from 13+ to R.
While the clock tick, tick, ticks away, I go back through my list to expand on the goals that are actually goals, moving them to a new sheet of paper and giving them clear, followable steps that Archie and I can put into action.
And then I’m done. Task completed. Archie’s directives fulfilled. Hurrah!
My shoulders drop, and I take in the first full breath I’ve had in an hour.
The clock ticks.
I wrinkle my nose at it. “I did my task,” I say. “See?” I lift my papers. “All done.”
Tick, tick, tick.
“It’s rude to point out something a person is very happily digging her head in the sand about, you know.” I sniff.
Tick, tick, tock.
I gasp. “Such language!”
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
“Okay, yes, I have a notification or two on my phone. But look! I did my goals for Archie!” I present the sheets again, in case it did not see them the first time.
Tick, tock, tock, tock.
I wince. “Well… yes, ‘or two’ is more like…” I check my phone and wince again. “One hundred and thirty-seven.”
Tock!
“Yeah, well, you didn’t hear what they said to me!”
Tick, tock.
I groan. “What do you know? You’re aclock.”
And I’m the one talking toa clock, so maybe I should not be so judgy.
The second hand continues its journey around the clock face while I nibble at my cheek and eye my phone.
I suppose I could at least look at the messages. Just because they never listen to me doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t be the bigger person and see what they have to say. Probably.
Tick, tock.
“Oh, fine,” I mumble. “Not probably. Definitely.”
I sigh to the metronome of ticks and poke at my phone screen. It lights up, letting me know that I’m now at one hundred and thirty-nine notifications.
Yikes.
Upon further investigation, I find that I have six missed calls from my mother, twenty-seven from my father, and zero from my teenage brother, Fred. This is in contrast to the sixty-three text messages from Mom, five from Dad, and thirty-eight from my brother.
Double yikes.
“What do you think, clock? Mom, Dad, or Fred? Who do I check first?”
