Diary

I am not a crier. At least, I am not a happy crier. I have cried exactly once from joy, and it was many years ago when I stepped into the Ghibli Museum. So maybe my life is devoid of joy or maybe Totoro is just that great. But there is one other thing that can and will make me cry. And that thing is sea turtles.

It is a cry that originates from the chest, that yearning joy that I assume is maybe what people feel like when they think about their kids (if they like their kids I guess). It’s the feeling that every single sea turtle on Earth is a precious entity that should be loved and protected at any cost. And if I see a sea turtle in real life, or I see a video of a sea turtle, or sometimes just a photo of a sea turtle, I will start tearing up.

I, in fact, love all turtles. (Remember, all tortoises are turtles but not all turtles are tortoises.) I grew up in the woods where there were many turtles. One time even a wood turtle. Which is the name of a real species of turtle, not a turtle made of wood. I am full of turtle facts.

But I did not grow up near the ocean, and have a pretty solid fear of drowning. Yet there is something about sea turtles, and just sea turtles, not any other type of turtle, that will make me start crying. I did once swim with sea turtles, and saw some babies up close, but the crying reaction pre-dates those interactions.

Was I a sea turtle in another life? Who knows.

All this to say, if you have any affection for sea turtles, you can do yourself a favor and do not read any news about sea turtles week. Or month. Just stay away from all mentions of sea turtles. Your life will not be made better by knowing about sad news about sea turtles. I wish I had avoided it. But it’s maybe not too late for you. Just avoid sea turtle talk online for a while. It’s for your own good so you don’t become enraged and start planning [REDACTED] like I did.

And if you have read any bad sea turtle news and would like to join me in [REDACTED] those motherfucking [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] their [REDACTED] until they [REDACTED], let me know.

It was my intention to start my new blog today with some light hearted and humorous insights about my dog and my relationship with her on this, her 5th birthday.

But of course, best laid plans of someone whose life is like the bad luck version of Forrest Gump and all that, and by 8:15 in the morning I was sitting in the middle of the street in a tiny European village screaming bloody murder. Luckily there was no actual murder, and only a small amount of blood. Which I assume is because the giant German Shepherd that rushed out of the garage it’s normally kept in where it spends all day barking was only in the mood to maim instead of kill. It was early, he probably hadn’t had his coffee yet.

The good news is that I’m not all posturing when it comes to what I would or would not do in an emergency. I talk a lot of shit for a pretty small person (and a pretty, small person), but I did also take bite to the leg defending my dog and ended up having to pry my dog (an English Cocker Spaniel wearing a pink Happy Birthday bandana)’s tail out of the mouth of an animal that’s bigger than me with my bare hands while the oblivious owner of the delinquent dog eventually pulled his dog away, then let him go, then pulled him away again and punched it.

(Animal abuse is rampant here. I see people abusing their dogs all the time in public, so imagine what they do inside their homes. And it explains why so many of the dogs here end up in these exact situations.)

My dog is fine. She was obviously scared, got bit, and did a lot of screaming just before I did, but she’s okay. I didn’t even notice I’d been hurt until I got her home.

I detail this not because I want sympathy (not that I don’t want sympathy, I’d actually really appreciate as much sympathy as you can give me) I do it because this kind of thing happens to me on a very regular basis. And so I suppose this is a good introduction to this new blog.

Should you follow my writing, you will be reading the musings of someone who is cursed. That earlier bad luck Forrest Gump comment was an understatement. There will never be more than a few weeks between a dog attack, or an ambulance ride, or a natural disaster, or a stalker, or any other number of things that unless you personally witnessed them you eventually start to think me mad or a scammer. Maybe by sharing, I can dilute the curse or pass the curse on or at least make you think “it’s great I didn’t have to wrestle a German Shepherd today”.