Well, we're all still here, I guess, and that's something. 2020 is nearly done.
Unsurprisingly enough, I entered December still absolutely devastated by the loss of Charlie. If you don't read often, Charlie was my perfect (border collie) son, and he died very suddenly and unexpectedly at the start of November, through circumstances that were, technically, my fault (there's no need to message me again saying 'don't blame yourself' — I know. And yet)
Every time I think I'm okay, something new causes me to totally break down. I've been working on a project about the visual language of grief for my MA (inspired by my experiences after Charlie passed), as I've been interested in how triggering/upsetting a lot of traditional grieving materials can be. While in the middle of this, I recieved a card from the vet saying how sad they were and how loved Charlie was (words to this effect are already guaranteed to set me off — for some reason people telling me how loved he was and how happy his life with me was only serves to make me feel even more devastated to have lost him)... They also included a badly printed photocopy of this text/poem, which again, absolutely broke me.
I know a lot of people take comfort in the idea of 'the rainbow bridge' as a kind of heaven for pets. But I personally can't bear it — any of you who knew Charlie will know that the most important thing to him (maybe even more important than his beloved kibbles/goobles/croquettes) was his people. I don't want him to have to wait there for me until I die. He'd hate it. I might be ages.
My imagining of heaven for Charlie is that, the morning when me and my partner came down and found him dead, and our world fell apart, in another dimension he cheerfully woke up, like normal. He went out for his usual morning walk with them, came home and cuddled with me on the sofa. Maybe later on there's a knock at the door and it's Justin and Dav, come to take him out for a walk over the Yorkshire moors which have somehow magically materialised outside our front door. Tired out, he gets home and goes upstairs to find that Ava's bedroom is there, and he can go and curl up with them on their bed and watch a movie together. He comes downstairs later that night to find Sarah and Edd (his old owners) in their living room, where he can snuggle with them on the sofa. Every day is a cosy combination of all of his favourite people and places. Every night he gets to go to sleep on the sofa on his favourite throw with a kiss on the head from me. Every door knock is another friend. Who could it be? Naomi... Caroline... Jason... Davey... Eilidh... Gabe... Beck... Megan... Kier... Jay... Nat... Tabitha... Heidi... Rosie... Any one of the many other people in his life who loved him so dearly. He was always so so very loved. He shouldn't have to wait for me. All I ever want is for him to be happy.
Trying to be kind to myself. Obviously grief is exacerbated by loneliness and absence of usual cheering treats like a gig, or an exhibition, or nice food out with friends. I like trains, and because of uni and Samaritans volunteering, I still get to go on them at least once a week. I treat myself to a Wasabi tofu curry (they're really kind of bad but also somehow incredibly comforting, and one of the only train station food places that's stayed open). It sit up on the mostly deserted balcony of Waterloo station and eat it slowly while people watching and trying not to get too cold. Simultaneously depressing and really nice to eat somewhere not my house.
PSA, PUT YOUR NOSE AWAY
As mentioned last month, before Charlie passed I wouldn't have imagined wanting to spend time with other dogs, but actually I so desperately miss his presence, thinking about and meeting and hanging out with other dogs is one of the only things that brings me comfort (my Instagram discover page is basically all cute dog videos now, THEY'RE SO PURE AND SWEET ðŸ˜)
As part of this, I re-joined Borrow My Doggy as a borrower, but quickly discovered that the success of the app is mostly for dog owners looking for help (like me and Charlie)... If you're on the other side and want to hang out with a dog, well, join the VERY LONG queue. I basically gave up on it after lots of un-responded to messages, but happened to get in touch with Max's owner very soon after she listed him. He's a 2 year old long haired dachshund, and unlike most dogs on the website, he doesn't need ongoing walking, just a place to stay for 3 weeks while his owner went to visit family in the US (inadvisable TBH but that's for her to decide I guess)
Anyway, we met up with Max and his owner (and her daughter) in the park, and I was reminded once again of the correctness of my choice to have dogs and not human children 🙃
We got along well, Max liked us (becoming immediately particularly fond of my partner), I liked him and his owner, and we agreed that he could come and stay with us for three weeks over Christmas/new year.
Our ongoing Bond-watching-spree continues, with 'On her majesty's Secret Service', which I'd never seen before — also the only George Lazenby Bond movie. He was probably the hottest Bond, and this is probably the last Bond movie for some time with any real emotional depth, so we quite enjoyed it, I think.
Lol, 'art'. Is it good or bad? I don't even know!
hahahaha lolsob
Why did I decide to do an MA again?
As well as my ongoing forays into Borrow my Doggy, I continued looking for a new friend on a more permanent basis. I'd already established that a) most UK shelters are empty apart from the most challenging cases because everyone wants a dog for lockdown, and b) UK shelters are reeeeeeeally picky and my experience as a dog owner counts for naught if I don't have a garden.
I started looking at Romanian dogs instead (they have a big problem with strays and over-populated shelters over there, and there's now a steady stream of them being adopted in the UK), and fell in love with the beautiful Creme.
Sadly, while there are LOADS of Romanian dogs and the charity are a bit more open minded about circumstances, no garden remains a deal breaker. They have so many dogs over there and Creme has been stuck in the shelter since 2017, despite clearly being a BEAUTIFUL girl... If you're thinking of adopting a Romanian dog and you DO have a garden, please consider her, because I fell in love with her and hate to imagine her languishing the rest of her life in that sad place (even though it is probably what will happen).
Max came over for a trial day, and proved to be an incredibly needy little man. (I am trying not to call him a boy because Charlie was The Boy. I fail often, but 'Little man' is also hilarious to me, so it does work most of the time.)
He absolutely will not stand for being anywhere other than directly draped over a person (he's not that fussy about who), which does make getting anything done quite challenging, but on the bright side, he is incredibly warm and smells bizarrely good for a dog. I wonder whether I should get a papoose.
2020 BIG MOOD
WE GOT A TREE! This was actually quite exciting because I've not had a christmas tree since leaving home aged 19 (I'm now 32)... First there was no space... Then there was still no space... Then finally there was space but Ava hated watching plant-life die, and we didn't have a car anyway and... Finally now, Tabitha insisted. I baulked a little at the price (bloody London), but considering our lack of experience we chose a PERFECTLY sized one, decorated it very tastefully, and it has barely shed any needles, AND it massively lifted my spirits, so I am calling the whole thing a grand success.
Diamonds are Forever, first of the Roger Moore Bonds, a comedy caper around Las Vegas, bizarrely low stakes (There are some diamonds or something? Maybe a laser?) but the late 60's Americana and only-mildly-problematic early gay represetation in the form of comedy villains Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd more than makes up for its lack of plot.
Okay we're on day 273 and I finally caved and went to Muji and bought some stretchy trousers, it's all downhill from here folks
Paperchase have a big cheap book of motivational stickers on sale at the moment, if you feel like that's something you might enjoy...
I was really sad the first day Max came to stay. I guess it made sense. He's a soft, squidgy long-man with several naughty foibles, and about as far away from Charlie as you could imagine in a dog. (He's also very impractically designed, though that's not his fault). In his sweet, soft, sleepy moments, his presence is a balm. In his mischievious, crime-spree moments, he just served as a reminder of everything I've lost. Will any other dog ever be as good as Charlie? As loyal? As desperate to please? As good and smart and brave? Maybe I guess. (But it probably won't be Max.... sorry Max)
In a chain of events which began with Charlie's dramatic explosive diarhhoea episode over our landlord's sofa, I come to be stood in Battersea Park at 8am on a chilly Thursday, being shot by a photographer from Which magazine, which seems about as unlikely as anything that's happened this year.
In a year where a lot of other things I love have been taken away from me, I feel lucky that I can still rely on my one true love, public transport! (Please don't take that away from me, no, don't send me articles about how fucked it all is, just let me enjoy this while I still can ðŸ˜)
Talking of public transport, I had been planning on travelling down to my parents in Chichester to drop their presents with them, but with restrictions ever tightening, and having left it too late to reliably post them, me and my dad agreed to an evocative rendezvous in romantic Crawley (the mid point between us), in which I placed a bag of presents on a train station bench, stepped back and allowed him to pick them up, and he handed me a little sanitsied baggie full of christmas money (in a baggie in case I wanted to wait the requisite 72 hours before taking it out and rubbing it on my face, or whatever it is you do with cash, I'm not sure, I've forgotten).
We talked about tax returns and how much I miss my dog and then we both got back on near-empty trains home again.
Live and Let Die is basically a blaxploitation film, which I'd never really recognised when I last watched it on ITV as a child. It also involves a mildly nasty Bond repeatedly outwitted by much cooler, more charismatic villains than he is, an extremely creepy and not-okay romance plot, and a double decker bus chase. It's fine I guess but we're definitely getting into the shit-Bond era
Are we allowed to see people? One person outdoors if you both touch wood and hold your breath right?
I haven't seen many people this year compared with how life would usually be, so it feels like a rare treat to catch up with Nat (accompanied by my adorable annoying temporary companion)
I've spent way too much money this year considering there's nowhere to go and nothing to do, and for a while back there, no one apart from Rishi was paying me, but I REGRET NOTHING, especially not buying my own Nintendo Switch and throwing away hours of time trying to drown my sorrows creating the perfect farm in Stardew Valley.
I cannot even imagine how miserable I would have been if I'd spent this year in Yorkshire. Sorry Yorkshire but you just weren't for me. The downside of living on a 24-hour bus-route main road is that no one will let you have a dog, but the upside is that there's always interesting people to watch out the window, and there's always something happening. I especially love minor drama, though it's mostly just normal people going about their normal routines, with which I have now become intimiately aquianted.
('Middle aged man who smokes outside the Indian restaurant' and I have only ever exchanged a few words. The night before Charlie died I carried him out onto the street and he had a bad butt incident outside the takeaway, it was so bad that this man, who I think runs the place, looked at me with sympathy rather than disgust as he ought to have done. I said 'I'm sorry, my dog is really sick', and then I came out a few minutes later and washed down the street with a bucket, and he said 'thank you!' with slight surprise, as though he'd expected me to leave it. The next day he was sat in his car nearby when I carried Charlie's body out. Now he sees me every day with Max, and he smiles really sadly at me. I guess I like him now and forgive him for making my room smell of cigarettes when I have my window open.)
Maybe I'm hamming it up a bit now but fucking hell. Actually found it easier to get into the festive spirit than I expected this year though, thanks to Tabitha's boundless enthusiasm (honestly, thank goodness for Tabitha, random spareroom-found-housemate who has been a HERO this year in so many ways, all hail Tabitha), and my own need to cling on to something distracting. I'd kind of managed to forget about Brexit though, lolsob
Me, my partner, and Tabitha, had a nice quiet Christmas day. We cooked a competant lunch, walked Max, opened our presents together, called the relevant family members, watched the Muppets Christmas Carol AND a Nightmre Before Christmas, and generally managed to be cosy and fine. Decent present haul too (in quite a middle aged kind of way :)
I mentioned Creme earlier on in the month, and had been going through quite a lot of hoops to try and welcome her into her lives, including an hour long zoom interview, and having to make a video tour of my house and street, but we finally heard on Boxing Day that they wouldn't consider us for her (or for any of their other dogs) due to our lack of garden and how busy our street is.
Fine, they have to do what they think is right, and maybe indeed we couldn't welcome a potentially difficult Romanian dog (by all accounts they're usually a bit chaotic for the few few weeks then become absolutely super pets, but it was those first few weeks they were worried about)... But I know, and have proved, that it's perfectly possible to keep a happy dog in this house. Battersea Park is an absolute doggo adventure zone (only 2 mins from our house), and we are experienced with a wriggly, tense rescue border collie... there is a dog out there we could offer a home to, but how do we find them?
I returned to 'pets4homes', a mostly legit but occasionally dodgy classified ad site for all kinds of pets in the UK, everything from £3000 dachshund puppies, to the equivalent of 'a man in the pub trying to sell you his pitbull for £50'
If you set the filters to 'for sale', 'under £500', dogs aged 2 and up, you basically filter right down to people who are either 1) desperate to get rid of their dog because their life circumstances have changed and they don't much care about the money, 2) people who have bitten off more than they can chew with a dog they can't cope with and just want it gone, and possibly 3) people who have stolen a dog and want to get shot of it for some easy money.
Basically we're looking for option number 1 (possibly number 2 depending on how intense the dog is), and trying to use our dodgy-deal-sense to skirt around any potential number 3.
I sent hopeful messages out to a number of people, not really expecting to hear anything back. But... I did.
The Man with the Golden Gun is James Bond at his most dislikeable (it honestly amazes me audiences in the 70's still wanted to see this guy), and is another movie blatantly playing to the trends of the time, this time Kung-fu movies, with every possible martial art thrown in for absolutely no discernable reason. Christopher Lee plays the three-nippled Scaramanga, who I'm now old enough to appreciate as quite hot, and one finds oneself not really caring if Bond lives or dies. Still, a fun enough romp on many levels.
In the early hours of boxing day, an indvidual or individuals covered the northbound Victoria line of Oxford Circus in an impressive amount of graffiti, including a Grenfell mural and some Covid conspiracy theories (you win some you lose some I guess). I for one applaud their audacity (while sympathising with the doubtless underpaid staff who had to clean it all off). By the time I got there for my Samaritans shift on the 28th, all that was left was some small pieces between re-applied ads on the other side of the tracks. I enjoyed getting to see the traces, anyway.
For a while in the middle of the year I managed to get the most thorough moisturising/skin care routine of my life going (a routine which previously consisted of precisely nothing at all)... I even started flossing, the worst thing in the world!
But since Charlie died I basically only do the 'good' self care, which for me = eating, showering and sleeping (well, and I DO wash my hair once a week, but don't tell me to enjoy it, I hate it just as much as I have done my entire life)
I guess I'll try and get back on it all soon?! UGH, BODIES
On the 30th we went to meet a dog. She's nice, I don't think she's stolen, and unless I have been CONNED for a £50 deposit, we will be bringing her home on January 7th. I will introduce you to her then. I don't want to do it before then in case it all goes wrong for some reason. (She's beautiful.)
So, here we are. Weird old new year's eve, huh.
This time last year I was alone in my friend Deb's apartment in Boston, cat-sitting while she visited family on the other side of the world. I was just beginning to move past the grief of the end of mine and Ava's relationship a year ago, and I'd recently met someone new who I was excited about. Charlie had just had a health scare but seemed to have come out the other side unscathed and I was excited to get home and take him on more London adventures. I felt incredibly excited to be in the USA, a country with which I am deeply in love, despite all its flaws. I remember being overwhelmed by a sense of peace and contentment.
Tonight I am working my first 'night watch 2' at Samaritans, the 2.30am – 6.30am shift. I will get on a train at around 8 tonight, sleep in one of the small bedrooms at the branch (right through midnight, unless some rowdy Carnaby Street revellers disturb me), and drag myself out of bed at 2am to take calls from people going through the darkest shit you can imagine. I can't talk about any of it, for obvious reasons. Six months in, and I am both pleased and slightly alarmed by my ability to completely zone it all out after I leave the branch. I couldn't do a job that bought me into contact with this stuff face-to-face, but over the phone, I can say the things and be the person people need. Sometimes someone's taken an overdose and the line shuts off and you don't know if they're going to live or die, but other times you hear someone transform from a broken wreck who can't go on to a broken wreck who can go on, and they thank you for listening, and you hang up and things feel okay for a moment, and then you forget about them forever.
It's harder to forget that there's a pandemic on and Charlie is dead. I miss my friends. I miss breathing on people in crowded rooms. I miss not having to think about whether the supermarket is going to have run out of things.
But this year I started an MA for some reason. The exciting person stayed exciting (and now I get to have them in my house all the time) and I still have enough money to pay the rent every month. So those things are good, I guess.
I really hope you've got some good things to hold onto as well.
