I didn't make my bed today...

I didn't make my bed when I got up this morning. I was too excited to get my day started to waste time on a mundane chore. A little shopping, a trip to the Indianapolis Museum of Art, and a snack of pineapple and mint-infused water and an apple in a beautiful garden were all on the day's agenda. As I shopped, and admired art, and enjoyed the sunshine, I kept thinking, this weekend will make a great, light-hearted blog post.

Then I got an email from my mom and my perspective of the weekend shifted dramatically. After Mom's email, it occurred to me, so much of what I do is informed by my network of friends and family.

You see, I went shopping today to pick up a swimsuit I had ordered for the mother-daughter-grandmother trip I have planned with, who else, my mom and grandmother. The Indianapolis Museum of Art visit was made possible by a gift of museum membership from a dear friend. Last night at the Simon Fashion Now fashion show, which I attended with a relatively new friend, my dad was texting me about deer invading his garden, which made me want to spend some time outside. My brother emailed me a hilarious video of some Illinois fools, as a proposed new family hobby. My best friend and I had a quick chat about my news and her news. I made plans to meet up with a friend for coffee and another group of friends for dinner.

So you see, what I do and, indeed, who I am is informed by my family and friends.

And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

When I started this blog, I mentioned one of my goals was to reconnect with old friends. What I didn't think about then is how lucky I am to have friends who are still willing to reconnect after years of neglected relationships.

As I look back over my life, I had the unconditional love and support from my amazing network of family and friends. When I moved to a new place and didn't know anyone, my friends would spend hours on the phone with me, talking me through my lonely times. When I was struggling with depression, my friends and family were there to support me and help me reverse the tailspin. My work is overwhelming? I can talk to my parents. School is rough? I can call on my friends. Humphrey vomits in his crate - again. A sympathetic ear is only a phone call or text message away. No matter what the hardship, be it big or little, I know I have a network of people who love and care for me and for whom I love and care.

For this I am truly lucky. To all of my family members and friends, I love you and thank you for being there for me when I need you most. I'll always be here for you.

As I work to reclaim me, please know that I am also reclaiming you.

The Gizmoidian Ooze

There is a series of sayings, one of which is: "If a butterfly flapped its wings in Beijing, there will be sun in Central Park." This saying illustrates The Butterfly Effect - the idea that a seemingly unrelated event can have significant impact on reality as you know it. Well, after the past ten days, I would like to submit a new iteration to The Butterfly Effect: "If you watch your mom's papillon for ten days, will you ever be able to get all the dog hair out of your house?"

For those of you that do not know, a papillon is a long-haired, small dog with absolutely no impulse control or personal space. My mom's papillon, and my charge for the past week, is named Gizmo. I love dogs, have one of my own, and, honestly like Gizmo. But this dog, in all his neurotic glory is worth taking the time to write about.

As I mentioned, Gizmo is a long-haired dog. A really long haired dog. He walks into a room and literally explodes hair. While I have never seen Gizmo shake, my entire apartment is covered in his hair. I get dressed for work. There's dog hair on my clothes. I open my laptop. There's dog hair covering the keyboard. I pour a bowl of cereal. There's dog hair in the dish. Even as I sit here typing, I am fighting with an elusive strand of dog hair that is currently on my face.

My dad once compared Gizmo's shedding to flesh-eating bacteria. While the comparison is apt, it is probably a little too harsh for such a cute little dog. Therefore, I have named it the Gizmoidian Ooze - a name which was inspired by my recent rediscovery of the Ghostbusters movie franchise. Ooze aside, to fully appreciate my past week, you need to appreciate the character named Gizmo.

Gizmo is neurotic. He's shifty. He skulks and scrambles as close to buildings as he can.

Gizmo doesn't like to get his feet wet (think about Indianapolis weather over the past ten days for a minute). He does not mind using the restroom in the tight space under a bed.

Gizmo cannot go more than 30 minutes without hearing the sound of his own voice. Day or Night. Day. OR. Night.

Gizmo loves to dance. Hula is his favorite type, Lady Gaga and the Black Eyed Peas are his jam.

Gizmo is afraid of Roombas and the stick you use to open and close blinds. Gizmo is not afraid of moving vehicles, strange people, or large, aggressive dogs. Therefore, if you vacuum or open/close the blinds, he will hide. If you are walking down the sidewalk, he will dart into the road after motorcycles, large dogs, and intergalactic invaders only he can see.

Gizmo is unable to eat unless someone is watching him. Gizmo is unable to focus on one task if someone is watching him.

Gizmo has no personal space. Absolutely none. Showers and pillows mean nothing to Gizmo - he shares and shares alike.

Gizmo only wants to play with the toy another dog has. He thrives on drama.

Gizmo's problem solving methodology always starts and stops with incessant barking. His tones are less than dulcet.

Gizmo's ears are roughly the size of and have the reception of large satellite dishes. He hears everything. And feels the need to then add his two cents. Always.

If he is ignored for too long, Gizmo develops a limp.

If he gets overly excited, Gizmo begins to snort like a pig.

If he is around lots of people and dogs, Gizmo turns into limping, snorting lunatic.

The hour between 9:30 and 10:30 p.m. is the "Giz-ing hour" and is marked by frenzied playing and even more barking than usual. He might be able to tell time, his mania is so precise.

So in answer to my initial paradox: Will I ever be able to get all the dog hair out of my house? Probably not. Would I trade watching this neurotic, lunatic of a dog for a cleaner house? Absolutely not.

As I close, Gizmo has opted to steal yet another toy and incite a small riot on the floor and that damn strand of dog hair is still somewhere on my face.