I think I can be both relieved that I left but still occasionally find myself ENRAGED that I *had* to leave…
I've been trying to process my anger and, fine, *grief* at a series of events that happened last year but also had been building up for the year or so before that. It's been hard trying to put it into words but I think I finally have an analogy that works.
It's like... a friend asks you to be a roommate. You make all these plans about how you're going to share your space. You make rules about visitors, other possible roommates, the activities you want to participate in as a group and just the general vibe you want for your apartment. A vibe that specifically prohibits allowing defecation in shared spaces. You agree on that particular rule. Or at least you think you do.
Then the roommate brings first one "rescue" dog then another then ANOTHER into the apt. And sure enough, those rescues shit uncontrollably in every room. You wonder how this is even happening, there were RULES! You hear, oopsie i forgot these particular dogs can help but shit uncontrollably, and you grit your teeth and try for diplomacy because you’re supposed to make allowances for lapses in memory.
You ask, hey I know dogs can’t help but shit and you really enjoy getting your hands in there to clean up said shit, but maybe when you see them showing signs of having a bowel movement...could you take them somewhere outside of the apartment to shit? Because we had rules about this.
But apparently roomie loves it when the dog shits the house because it gives them something to feel good and proud about cleaning up. It’s like rescuing them all over again, I guess.
And so you leave the apartment and that seems to suit everyone just fine. The dogs are happy, their rescuer is happy, and you don’t have to endure a daily deluge of fecal matter or witness the inevitable cooing and wiping up of that shit-filled, rescue palace.
But just because you’re out of there doesn’t mean you’re not still incredibly angry about it. Because what was the fuckin’ point of all of that planning?
Still, you if you’re trying not to be constantly seething, you do your best to move past it all and not begrudge people their rescue dogs or the heaps of praise they get for being the proprietor of space where all are welcome to smear-themselves in shit in hopes that someone will come around, wipe them down and coo at them about how they’re the bestest, sweetest, most cleverest girls ever.
But sometimes there's a breeze that carries just the tiniest whiff of fresh excrement and you just can't help but remember how goddamn stupid and infuriating this whole situation is.
























