Watching hair grow

Two weeks after the panic trip to the vet with Homie, one week after starting thyroid pills, he's definitely better but not well. Every few hours I peer and poke at the new hairs growing in through the layer of gummy black stuff. The black gum is scaling off as the hairs sprout. There is still puffiness in his front legs and paws that seems to come and go. In some areas his skin is bright pink and bumpy under the hair (inner hind legs, chest). The top of his snout is itchy & sometimes bleeds. But he doesn't act sick; he's perky and wants his walks and treats. Wednesday we had a longer walk than usual, maybe a mile. It was too much for him. Blood tests pegged him as hypothyroid, which makes no sense to me. He's skinny and energetic (for an old guy). Tomorrow we go back for another checkup and questions.

It seems like I don't do much else but watch hair grow, be his friend, read, go to yoga and fitness center, play solitaire, and watch movies. I'm restless but can't seem to shake off this anxious, watchful routine. There's plenty of stuff that needs doing, like filing a year's worth of bills and statements heaped on my desks. I could study French. I could go out hiking in the chilly, breezy sunshine. I could drive somewhere -- careful, not too far, I might stumble into winter.

I saw two more films: Before the Devil Knows You're Dead and Awake. Devil was an awful tale about people getting really stupid for money. This family takes the functional out of dysfunctional. But the acting is so fine you can't stop watching as these idiots dig deeper and deeper.

I'm mad at Roger Ebert. He said "trust me"; don't read about it, just go see it. So, not exactly over-committed these days, I saw Awake. The story line wasn't half bad. All it needed was writing and acting to make it work. Not there.

I'm hooked on The Shield lately, just finished season 5. Omigod, talk about deeper and deeper. Season 4 was a nap. With season 5, I have to calm down with a few pages of a murder mystery before I can fall asleep. Forest Whitaker is terrifying, like pus boiling over. And that character Shane, just when you think he might be growing up he goes off the deep end. Shit!

I am living fictional lives.

Today I read an excellent story in the New Yorker by Jhumpa Lahiri. In the midst of a gentle family tale, lightning strikes. Then life goes on, seemingly normal, three people changed forever. Suddenly all her books are on my shopping list.