Our new puppy continues to rule the house and my life. She was trained by the breeder to urinate on a pee pad which is exactly what it sounds like – an absorbent mat for dogs to urinate on indoors. At our house, that means the carpet. She’ll trot off the hardwood floors, pass the open back door to find the Persian rug and squat and look at me with an expression of “look how good I am!” Meanwhile the whole yard is available to her.
Making this a bit more challenging is, as I write this, my wife is in Raleigh with her parents, and my twins are in the throes of their senior year of high school, which means friends are greater than puppies. That leaves me. I find myself explaining to the puppy why a yard is better than a rug to leave her mark. Her expression is, well, skeptical.
As I write this, it is my deceased mother’s birthday, giving me a solemn feeling, and I learned today that I had volunteered to spend the night with my father after his knee surgery, helping him dress and get to the bathroom and all that.
All this leads me to is, apparently, I gave up happiness for Lent. I don’t remember choosing this. I think it was put upon me by The Almighty, and it has started out strong, I must say. I can only hope it’s easier from here on out.
I mentioned my Lenten happiness sacrifice to a friend and he paused and said, “Yeah, but Cam, is that truly a sacrifice for you? I mean, is that really much of a change?” which stung a bit and made me unhappy. However, considering that I’ve committed to unhappiness for lent, I thanked him.
In order to maintain my commitment, I plan to do the following until Easter:
First, I will read the headlines and scroll through social media within five minutes of opening my eyes each morning. This will set the unhappiness expectations for the rest of the day. If something that I’ve seen or read gives me lift, I’ll immediately add flavored creamer to my coffee which will return me to my targeted Lenten disposition.
Next, I’ll list all my unachievable goals and list everything I’ve ever wanted to own and don’t own. I’ll read the lists aloud each day.
Third, I’ll live in the past and recall my regrets and worry about the future and the bad things that will certainly befall me. That’s a good one. Happiness evaporates when you do that. Works every time.
Fourth, I’ll become an Auburn fan.
Fifth, I’ll beg my sons to get a haircut.
If I run out of ideas and find myself slipping into happiness, there are a few of you I know I can call to get me right. You seem to have mastered unhappiness. Not only are your cups half empty, your cups are full of holes. Normally I avoid you, but until Easter, I’ll need your help.
I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to keep it real.
