The Bend in the Road–Nicholas Sparks

I needed this book after I read Marilyn Mansons book. 

I needed to scrub my brain for awhile. 

So this is (naturally) a romance about how a mans wife was ended in a hit and run, she was the love of his life and nothing will ever be the same. 

Insert: 

His kids hot teacher. Whoa whoa whooooAAAaaa. 

Okay it wasn’t exactly like that, but this book is just as you suspect it will be.

Heartbreaking and lovely and with a piss off ending.

Classic Nicholas Sparks.

Always with the piss off endings.

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Cujo–Stephen King

Okay look Stephen King: You just fucking stop it. 

Why do I fucking read these books? Why do I seek out this terror? This book was so fucking stressful. 

And I’m going to spoil things, so you are warned. I have to spoil things because I need to channel this energy of rage this book gave me into a posting because I CAN’T BE ALONE WITH THESE FEELS.

Let me first tell you what I thought this book was about: 

A psychotic dog that eats people. Thought it was possessed or something. 

Here’s what the book is actually about: 

A sweetheart of a dog that gets poisoned when he chases a rabbit down into a cave that is full of sick bats. Rabies type virus ensues. 

Sweetheart dog starts to feel sick. We get to see into his thoughts as well (thanks a lot for THAT Stephen King.). We get to see it take him. Which is so fucking heartbreaking. Moreso than if that was happening to a human because dogs are little rays of light in an otherwise dark and stormy world.

How dare you come after a dog Stephen King!!! 

I’m going to be cursing him until the day I die. 

Anyway. There are a few players in this book that circle each other (and I DO forget their names so I’ll just describe them.) : 

One: Hapless husband who goes on business trip. Gets calls from wife nightly for updates on life. 

Two: Menacing Mechanic, owner of Cujo, altogether unsavoury asshat.

Three: Mechanics wife and son, who leave for a vacation with her sister. Son is the true owner/friend of Cujo. Kid is a sensitive sweetheart, wife wants out of her life. 

Four: Neighbour and only friend of menacing mechanic. 

Five: The cops. More or less useless. 

Six (and most important.): Hapless Husbands wife and four year old son. Wife needs car fixed, is sent to mechanic by husband. Car breaks down there. 

And hell fucking breaks loose. 

Now here’s how things went: Dog got sick. Dog turns slowly but surely. He eats mechanics friend. Then Mechanic goes to visit his friend because they are supposed to go fishing or something because the wife and kid went on vacation. Mechanic gets eaten at some point. 

Hapless husband forgets to check in with wife and son and after DAYS finally notices she hasn’t been calling either and calls the cops. 

Mechanics wife and kid are having a grand old time, although the kid just KNOWS something is wrong with Cujo even from afar.

Cut to: The hapless families wife and son are packing up snacks and whatnot for a small drive to the mechanics out of town just in case the car breaks down on the side of the road before they can even get to the farmhouse. 

And this is stressful for me because at the time I was looking after my four year old cousin and I couldn’t even fathom how a mother wouldn’t do EVERYTHING in her power to save her fucking kid.

The heat rose to excruciating heights. Kid is dehydrated, dog keeps attacking car, but is getting more and more vicious by the hour. They are both dying. Everyone is dying. The mom knows there’s a phone in the house, knows the dog is in the garage in the cold. She tries once to run for the phone…but the dog gets her leg, then she gets stuck back in the car.

Eventually all the things collide: someone at the police station finally believed the dad that his family was missing and they sent a cop to go look around. Cop sees note that the wife left saying where she was going. (A note she wrote for no one by the way. She just “had a feeling”.) 

Cop gets eaten. 

Wife and kid still. stuck. in. the. fucking. car. The kid is delirious. Like straight up heat stroke, had seizure, etc. 

Eventually the cops notice that their other cop didn’t come back. 

And everything explodes.

Hapless dad comes back before the cops get there, he finds the wife who (in her delirium and idiocy) goes for a bat instead of the cops rifle/radio, and is now beating the dog to death. 

Cops swarm, wife thinks husband saved her (which was annoying), and guess the fuck what. 

THE KID FUCKING DIES ANYWAY.

After all that. I fucking threw the book. 

How dare that end in the death of that sweet little four year old.

Fucking Stephen King. A plague on both your houses.

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The First Year

Today marks the first anniversary of Doomsday’s death. An anniversary that I actually never thought would come. I figured she would live until I died and then we would enter the ether together. Like a wizard and their Patronus.

Instead she was handed to me by a heartbroken vet into my openly weeping embrace. I cry just thinking about that feeling. Even though ten minutes later the crying vet came back and was like “How are we doing in here?” and then we cracked a sad joke about never knowing when it’s time to hand back “the body” while we both bawled our faces off. I remember saying “I think 10 minutes is good, otherwise it’s starting to get weird that I’m just sitting here with a dead animal.”

Even though I was thinking it wasn’t THAT weird because we had spent years of ours lives together. What was a few moments of her death to say goodbye forever?

Several things have happened this year that were harder without her, but more odd.

It’s strange to lose a pet. She wasn’t a person, a living breathing human that I could hold conversations with, she never gave me advice, or teased me for being silly, or even laughed with me. But she held such a huge part of my heart and soul that it felt weird to not have her around anymore.

Things you would never think about were really hard without her.

Christmas, mainly. I’m usually the first person up on Christmas just because now I’m the first of three early risers awake in my house on a regular basis and I’m not one for sleeping in unless I’m sick or had a hard week. So when I wake up Christmas morning she was the first creature I would celebrate it with. I would take pictures and let her open her new present of a toy. (She was more concerned about the wrapping paper because she loved to chew, so I made sure to always wrap stuff.)

Filling the corner she lived in was hard. I thought (when she was alive) that decorating the room would be a good thing to move forward, something positive, I would have room for other things and a new space to organize and decorate. I put my writing desk there, it felt weird to sit there and still be able to see the marks that were left on the floor from her cage. I moved a bookshelf there, it hurt to put something there that I’m always looking at.

It felt rude to replace her. That was HER space.

Finally I decided that I would put a chair where I could read and sew. A productive corner where her little ghost could come and chew my patterns and perch on the top of the chair. (Something she liked to do when she was alive.) It still felt weird, but it was a positive weird.

The worst was moving her cage out. I had to empty that out, throw away her litter and anything that wouldn’t be helpful to a future pets life. I moved her cage into the garage so I wouldn’t have to look at it empty. For that first week I would go out into the garage and click her water bottle because I couldn’t sleep without that noise. Or I would try to imagine it as I fell asleep. Sometimes I would even think I really heard it. And then I would remember, and the wound was open once again.

Coming home at the end of the day was bizarre. I always kept my light on, especially in the winter months, so that she would have the light in the room and not always be in the dark. So when I would walk up to the house it was a harsh reminder because my brain would immediately think “Who the hell turned that off? She needs that on.” and I would get so mad. Then my heart would plummet with the realization that the light doesn’t need to be on because she’s no longer there.

My nightly schedule is thrown off. I used to do “lights out” between 8 and 9, which was essentially turning off my laptop and whatever I was watching so that I could read and she could come out and hop around the room for an hour and a half before bed. Now I have no schedule. I don’t even sleep on time anymore. I used to get 8 hours of sleep and now I’m lucky if it’s 6.

My insomniac friends/parent friends want to punch me when I say that.

Her birthday was hard too. I used to go out and get her a new toy in February and she would immediately destroy it. I just loved our little celebrations together of life and love because she was the only creature who was fully mine and I was fully hers and while that’s a little Stockholm syndrome-y, it was a beautiful and ridiculous love.

One of the hardest things is that now I have no idea what to do for my Christmas card this year. Which sounds stupid, but that was one of our traditions in the fall. I would figure out something silly or cute and get ready early for Christmas. I even knit her a little scarf one year for our picture. And last years was so sad to me that I made my piano teacher take it down from his cork board after a few months of staring at my “smiling” face. I knew that I had actually been bawling my face off because I knew this was the last of our pictures like that. I didn’t want to look at my sad face or her tired face anymore. (Thankfully, he complied, and now he has a sarcastically made birthday card from me in its place. Which I appreciate more and helps me not completely lose focus. Or cry.)

I miss her all the time.

Today I feel haunted by her ghost. And not just the ghost of her memory, like legitimately her ghost. Strange things have been happening all day that don’t normally go on.

I know that time heals all wounds, and while this wound doesn’t feel as raw and broken and heart wrenching as it was on this day a year ago, I still hurt from missing her.

And all because I fell in love with a bunny in 2009.

How absurd.

Black Beauty–Anna Sewell

This might seem like an odd choice for me since I’m not a 9 year old girl with a horse obsession.

And if you ARE…don’t read this book kid. You’ll cry yourself to sleep.

I read books to my little cousin so he falls asleep at nap time to something magical.

My voice. Haha.

I like to read things in a soothing tone so he zonks out feeling safe and warm as we snuggle up.

I’m also trying to trick him into a love of books that his family members don’t 100% have. I’ve partially tricked the older boy with Percy Jackson books, I’ve mildly hooked the girl with A Series of Unfortunate Events (and some Roald Dahl), and I’ve been reading to Sir Toddlesworth since I started here. So hopefully it’ll stick.

Anyway…this book was the devil.

I totally thought that Black Beauty was all about horses and the girl that is featured on the cover. About their love and friendship. It was not about that. It was about this horses life and how miserable as hell it was. From beatings, to starvation, to everything in between that you would hate to hear happened to a horse: it was in this book.

This is not a children’s book and whoever tells you it is is a bastard coated bastard with bastard filling.

I had to cut out things, censor what I said to the kid, and it was because there were drunks, there was tragic deaths, accidental deaths, and worst of all: A horses death.

I’m not into reading about animals dying. People, sure. It happens. But animals are magical and wonderful and nothing bad should happen to them ever because they are pure wild spirits and nothing should hurt them.

This book also taught me that humans are the worst.

Don’t read this. Don’t let anyone you know read this.

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A Year of Pleasures–Elizabeth Berg

I literally bought this book because it has pie on the cover. That was 100% the reason.

And thankfully, pie did not disappoint.

This book is about a widow (common theme with my books these days) who is literally looking for simple pleasures in life in order to move forward from her husbands death.

With the help of the neighbour kid next door who helps around her house and her past friends who show up even though she hasn’t spoken to them in years, Betta gets through it.

This was a beautifully executed book. We could’ve been tripping over crippling sadness the entire time, and don’t get me wrong, there was plenty of talk of the dead husband, but you get to read and witness someone coming back to life and that’s such a beautiful thing to experience through writing because you don’t just SEE it happen, you get to awaken with their words as they talk in their mind as well.

I liked it, and I would read another by this author.

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Keep Moving Forward: Two Weeks

As if it’s been two weeks since I had to say goodbye to Doomsday. I said I was going to talk about it sooner, but I wasn’t quite ready for it.

It’s been a very weird experience, and I think I finally understand what people are talking about when they say “loss”. I used to be like “You didn’t lose that person or pet! You know where they went! To The Death! You didn’t lose them in a mall, they are gone, but not lost.”

And I think that’s a very important distinction sure, but with her being gone there are several things that are lost in the wind as her body is gone but her soul remained within me.

I haven’t felt such sadness since my dog Envy was gone. And I genuinely thought that was top level sadness.

Now, Doomsday was called a lot of things in her time and I was called a lot of things because of my love for her. (Ie. “Crazy” “Obsessed” “Nutbag”) But there is one thing that people kept saying to me about her and our life together when I would tell them that I needed to get home to see her or that I wanted to hang out with her in the evenings instead of socialize with human beings.

She was called “Just a rabbit”.

Oh hell no.

Any living creature is never “just” anything. If that creature is loved and can be loved then they are JUST amazing and wonderful.

Never step up to me and call any of my animal family members JUST my dogs. Or JUST my rabbit. Or JUST my little sister.

How dare you. Sir.

Let me tell you why I’m grieving so hard for this rabbit:

Because I love her.

No past tense. I still love her. That love doesn’t leave just because she is no longer physically here.

If anything, it magnified and reminded me of what our love was and what it had grown into.

That girl had personality. If she didn’t like something she let you know. (Sound familiar?) The vet told me last year that she has never seen a rabbit with more personality in their eyes. She was spewing pure venom because we were getting her cysts drained and she hated that.

There are things that I miss so damn much about her already. Mainly the things that irritated the fuck out of me when she was here.

That water bottle noise.

Anyone who has a small pet that lives in a cage knows what I’m talking about. That stupid noise was like a beacon to let me know she was still there. And now it’s gone and I can’t sleep. I’ve had to have a couple of naps when Daryl naps because I’m so exhausted during the day.

After almost 8 years together that noise had been my lullaby and now it’s missing and I haven’t gone to bed on time or even in the near vicinity of 10 pm for the last two weeks.

I also miss her rubbing her face on my ankles to claim me. And I hate when people touch my ankles. But with her it was sweet. Even though sometimes she would get on my ankle and I would be terrified that she would hump me. (We never got that far because she tickled so much. And it’s fucking creepy as all hell.)

I miss kisses. Bunny kisses are unicorn magic because that’s how they REALLY express love.

This has been one of the harder times of my life just because I had to go through cleaning her stuff out of my room. And there was a lot more than I thought. For such a small being she had a lot of stuff. Including the carpet in my room because she hated to run around on the wood floor. Everything in my room was set up to protect her or protect the thing from chewing that thing.

My room has a giant void.

I moved her stuff out earlier than I probably would have for two reasons:

  1. Dexter (who was her friend and is a our Doodle) keeps looking for her in the cage and can’t relax in my room. It was confusing both the dogs.

2)Every time I looked at the empty cage I started crying. While crying it out is good, I didn’t want to do it every ten seconds while trying to get anything accomplished in my room.

And I had so many weird habits that included her in my life. Like coming into the room at the end of the day and saying “Hello Cuckoo.” or when I was leaving I would make a weird noise and bunny ears at her. Even just facing my laptop over so she could watch Supernatural with me.

Have I mentioned I’m insane?

My guts hurt still hurt and I don’t know how I’ll handle having to pick her up from the vet in a new sort of carrying case. (Ie. An urn. Yes, I’m that crazy person who gets their pet cremated.)

I miss kisses, and snuggles, and even her nipping me to pay attention to her, I miss her angry stomps and funny noises, and chasing each other, and how funny she was when she would jump on my bed or whip around in excitement.

Bunnies are the best. She was the best. And it was so hard to hold her tiny body in my arms and listen to the vet say the most difficult words “She’s gone.” to me.

But now I’ll have to keep moving forward without her. So I’ve come up with a way of dealing…which is that she is now my Patronus. When I’m sad or anxious or darkness is coming over me, I just picture her as her black form with the smoke of a Patronus hopping around me to protect me. Now I just assume her spirit is trailing after me and seeing the world instead of just my bedroom.

Fingers crossed.

This is our first day together. So tiny! Fit into my hand! (And used to sit on my shoulders like a parrot haha)

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