It’s endless. Last night, I watched my favorite movie of all time. It’s Such a Beautiful Day.
Bill dropped his keys on the counter and stood there staring at them, suddenly thinking about all the times he’d thrown his keys there before and how many days of his life were wasted repeating the same tasks and rituals in his apartment over and over again.
But then he wondered if, realistically, this was his life, and the unusual part was his time spent doing other things.
I’ve been sleeping over at Vera’s house, at Damien’s house, sleepless in the studio in my parent’s backyard. My dad keeps deadnaming me and it takes a bigger toll on me than I think it would each time.
I swing wildly between states of being. My biggest emotions as of late have been gratitude and anxiety.
I like watching It’s Such a Beautiful Day because I find it comforting. Bill spends his life noticing and emphasizing the mundane despite his deteriorating condition. It’s all he really can do to stay grounded, to submerge himself in the life around him, even if it is fractured.
Bill spends much of his life fearing death. When his time finally comes, as he’s laying in the grass with the sun shining through the leaves, he instead becomes immortal. Through centuries, reading every book and learning every language, to the very end of the time, Bill lives.
Living in my parents’ house is mostly nice. I save a lot of money with no rent, my relationships to my sibling and mom are getting stronger, and there’s food on the table everyday. There’s a lot of oddities around the house. Doors that (inconveniently) lock by themselves, bright LED lights in the kitchen, and the dying dog with a tumor hanging down his belly.
The dying dog’s name is Abba and we’ve had him for a very long time. He’s spent most of his life outside, confined to a small gated area in the backyard. Recently, there’s been changes, and now the small gated area is even smaller. He roams in a dull rectangle.
Abba is a sweet and happy black Labrador who loves to lay in the sun. His health has been rotting for many, many years. We’re all waiting for him to die. Nobody wants to take him to get put down.
I used to hang out with Abba all the time as a kid, though neither me or my sibling, Oke, knew how to take care of him. For the majority of his life, he got fed leftovers of our dinner. As kids, we weren’t really allowed to go on walks around the neighborhood (our elementary school was a block away, but my mom insisted on dropping us off and picking us up, even though that took longer). Typically, we just ran around with the garden hose in the backyard, spraying each other, spraying Abba. It was fun.
One time, Abba ran away and was taken to the pound. There was a fee (I think $125, but I can’t remember) to take him back. I remember being maybe 8 years old, I was sitting on the stairs, moping. My parents ended up paying the fee to bring him back home.
Would he have had a better life if that didn’t happen? I wonder. He pants and grins despite it all.
The emotional neglect that I experienced being my parent’s child is bearable, and I learned how to find ways to fulfill my needs in other ways. I think Abba has, too, as much as he could have, given the ongoing abuse. His freedom lies in his death and it taunts him. I’m guilty in being a witness and perpetrator. I’m sure I could do more, but selfishly, I don’t want think about it.
He has no control over his life. It’s not inspiring to see a dog doing the best he can in this way.
I’m glad he still finds happiness in the sunshine.
Pajolo Cam 
say something!