The Ouroboros Effect
The last couple of weeks, I’ve been feeling like a man without a country, or in simpler terms, without a home. Not that I don’t have a home—I do—but lately, it hasn’t felt like one. So, I’ve been staying in hotels, and for the past few days, I’ve been watching my buddy’s dogs while he’s away on a Disney World trip with his girlfriend and kids. Let’s talk about these dogs for a second. There are three of them: one is supposed to be a miniature Doberman Pinscher named Izzy, but she actually looks like a fat fucking potbelly pig. She’s cool though, no issues. The other two, however—Bella and Gizmo, both French Bulldogs—are like little fucking terrorists. The have a penchant for getting all up in my grill and barking without any provocation. They also take full advantage of my habit of sleeping on the couch rather than a bed, which might be because beds feel lonely to me, even when I’m not alone. But that’s a topic for another day. ...