The other day my friend Ant pointed out that he could see through Petey’s leg, a trait I’d rather ignore about my four-legged friend. It’s true, though. The lower section of Petey’s hind legs are so lean that, when the light shines just so, they become transluscent. Having trouble imagining it? Remember what your skin looked like when you held a flashlight to your palm (or your cheek or throat…) when you were seven? Kind of like that.
But this isn’t about my dog’s legs. And it’s not about stuff you can see through, either.
Really I just felt like blogging and couldn’t think of anything worth writing about.
Honestly, I’m as disappointed as you.
I could write about becoming an activist for responsible dog ownership, but I’m still pissed over yesterday’s close encounter. (Yeah, yeah; turn anger into activisim. Whatever.)
I could write about how one of my friends turned seven today and how I wish I was seven. But then, don’t we all wish we were seven? (Oh Slip ‘N Slide, where are you?)
I could write about how jealous Petey gets when I pay more attention to my laptop than him and how he vies for a spot on my lap as I type. But I think I just said all that can be said about that and the time it would take to fight that fight just isn’t worth it.
Or, I could write about the cool conversation I had with a couple tutors about acaademic writing and voice and point of view and how to explain the concept of academic writing to students. But my battery is running out and my dog just farted on me and I think it’s time to go for a walk.
So there you go.