There’s a lot moving through this morning: pain, your thoughts coming out loud instead of staying inside, frustration when a thought disappears, and underneath all of it the ordinary anchor of getting Dixie outside. I’d keep the blog raw and rhythmic rather than cleaning it up so much that it stops sounding like you.

Whatever the Day Brings, I Walk the Dog

I woke up with my hand numb and throbbing.

Dixie noticed before I was really awake. She licked my hand, bumped into me, and there was the message.

Okay. I get it.

I’ve got to walk the dog.

My mind was somewhere strange this morning. I wasn’t really in my head. I was talking out loud. Mumbling. Lots and lots of mumbling.

I used to think that was bad. Today I just noticed it.

There are thoughts clicking together faster than I can catch them. Sometimes I finally get into my head and find a thought worth writing down, and then, just like that, it’s gone.

Gone, gone.

That drives me nuts. One of my pet peeves is losing a thought before I can get it onto the page.

Je pense, donc je suis.

I think, therefore I am.

Except sometimes I think, therefore I am, and then I forget what the hell I was thinking.

Oh well.

There was still Dixie.

So out the door we went.

I could feel the leaves skidding underneath my shoes on the pavement. I looked up and the moon was still hanging there in the 10 a.m. sky, refusing to disappear just because morning had arrived.

Then there was a long white trail stretching across the sky behind a jet. In my morning brain it looked almost juiced up, like somebody had drawn a giant misery squiggle straight through the blue.

My brain will apparently make poetry out of anything when it's in this kind of mood.

Dixie had more practical concerns.

She spread her business across multiple spots, because apparently one location wasn't sufficient. I followed behind her and picked it all up.

That's dog ownership.

That's also life sometimes.

You clean up what needs cleaning up and keep moving.

I am not giving it up.

That might be the important part of this morning. Through the numb hand, the noise in my head, the thoughts that appear and disappear, and whatever else the day decides to throw at me, I'm still doing the things that matter.

I walked my dog.

I'm getting ready for work.

And my hand, thankfully, is in a better mood than it was an hour ago. It's improving as the morning goes along.

There is something else I'm looking forward to, too.

Kim and I have our anniversary coming up, and it's a big-number anniversary. I want to do something special. Not simply buy something and call the job finished, but find some way to sit beside the woman I love and make the message unmistakable:

You are loved.

Not I hope you know.

Not I assume you know.

I want her to know.

Maybe that's what I'm taking from this strange morning.

There are thoughts I can't hold onto. There are thoughts that disappear halfway between my brain and the page. There are mornings when my brain feels noisy and everything seems like some enormous mind game.

But there are other things I don't have to think about.

Dixie bumps me.

We go walking.

The leaves skid under my shoes.

The moon hangs around after morning.

I pick up the dog shit.

I get ready for work.

I love Kim.

And whatever the day brings, I walk the dog.

---

One thing separate from the blog: I'm glad the numbness and throbbing are improving, but I wouldn't completely shrug them off, especially if this keeps happening when you wake up. Hand numbness can come from nerve irritation or compression, among other causes, and persistent or recurring numbness is worth discussing with a healthcare professional. If numbness ever begins suddenly along with weakness/paralysis, confusion, trouble speaking, dizziness, or a sudden severe headache, get emergency medical help immediately. [mayoclinic.org]

What I changed: I kept your repetition, the disappearing-thought idea, Dixie, the leaves, moon, sky, hand, work, and especially the anniversary with Kim. I mostly gave those thoughts enough structure and breathing room that the piece still feels like your stream of consciousness, but a reader can travel through the morning with you.