Proof

This morning the dogs were all OH HECK NO IT IS NOT TIME TO GET UP FOOLS, which is further proof that we should get rid of Daylight Savings Time. Archaic, I say!

More further proof of...something else, which is that Cab is infinitely more primitive than Monk: Monk's clock is set by schedules. He thinks he should poop after he eats dinner, whether it is 7:00 or 5:15. He knows he will go out when we get home. I used to call on my way home frequently to see if J needed me to stop at a store or anything, and Monk never anticipated my arrival until he heard J's cell phone ring--then he'd run and wait for me. Monk is always surprised by the noon siren. He knows we're going somewhere when we put on shoes at the same time. Therefore, we can trick Monk sometimes.

Cab, however, the primal jerk, has an internal clock of champions. He knows when it is 7:30 a.m. and time for us to go to work--on weekends he spazzes out at 7:30 or 8:00 because OH NO OH NO THEY ARE STILL HERE THE WORLD IS ENDING AAAAAHHHH! If we eat dinner early, like last night, he didn't care, but at seven (or eight, stupid time change), he freaked out and wanted to go pee RIGHT THEN. Because that is normally when we finish eating and take out the dogs. He anticipates when we're going to arrive home, and freaks out. Therefore, his whole world is shaken up every weekend, and he spends a lot of time whining/howling around eight a.m. and then around one p.m. (when we go back to work from lunch during the week).

So, this morning, because he was an hour off, he got back in bed after we got up. Because Monk is not a morning...dog, and frequently groans when our alarm goes off, he also went back to bed.

Also this weekend, I finally cleaned the house (!) and we finished rearranging, and I played phone tag with this lady, and I went to work, and I worked on a painting for my sister, and I read my new sewing machine's instruction booklet about fifty times. My mom gave it to me for my birthday (the machine, too, not just the booklet, COME ON). It seriously took me (I watched the clock) about two hours to figure out how to get everything threaded correctly. The page with the threading instructions is now all wrinkled, and I spent much of the two hours angry, muttering, and scowling. Confusing! Confusing and poorly worded! Thread is hard to...grip. Right? It's so tiny and slippery and I can barely even feel when I am holding it, and there was much mouth breathing and a few times I had to take breaks for some calming breathing.

However, I finally figured it out, and made a very crooked throw pillow, and repaired the dogs' beds, which Cab had destroyed again.

Now I have to go to work, and Cab is unsure of what is happening. He knows it is totally not time to go in his box, he has another hour, COME ON.

Love,
black sheeped

PS. Okay. I want to finally make an art site and maybe make my own blog, bust free of Blogger. Any tips on web hosts? Because I am overwhelmed. So! Many! Hosts!