intimità svp, manque. j'essaye de dà placer mes entrailles.

alas, my day just could not fair much worse. i cannot wait until evenings fold envelopes me into its dark beauty, and i am welcomed within for an evenings slumber.

no matter how poetic i spin the yarn, it just doesn[apostrophe]t alter any of my many foiled attempts to defecate. firstly, kristen abruptly rouses me from serene repose - i was enjoying the most fantastic dream. i was in a land of giants, every one well-versed in the customs of peanut butter tuesday. the eldest giant-tribesman opened his giant jar of jif, dipping his massive hand within. my puppy tail wagged with such anticipation as he produced the largest handfull of g.w. carver[apostrophe]s legumic masterpiece and untucked his giant-tunic. i could almost the taste to wonderful combination of peanutty ambrosia and giant-bodysoil when...

...monsieur...monsieur...are oo ready for a widdle walk, bebe? are oo ready? ...baby-talk? seriously? i know im still a curious 4 month-old puppy with a heart of gold, but that[apostrophe]s 28 months in your human equivalence.

so there we are, kristen, pommes frites and myself. walking in small circles on the municipal tree lawn. just as i trample the grass just ever so perfectly, so as to focus and center my chi toward my bowels to produce a zen-quality stool, i[apostrophe]m yanked impatiently to another locale just two meters away. was that really necessary? at least walk me to the other side of the lawn if i am to experience this intestinal disharmony.

look at her, tugging us to and fro, elitestly sipping her robust kenyan roast java, staring at me condescendingly to "just hurry up and poop" so she can make her train. perhaps i could have some coffee for once. i am recently roused, still confused as to the whereabouts of the pb-giants, and frankly its not yet even 7 am. perhaps if i could imbibe of your morning beverage i could speed along your day. caffeine is a natural diuretic as you know. she sighs pathetically and we are whisked away briskly. i can hear her muttering echo in the courtyard toward the stairs.

ray wakes a few hours later, dresses, and we all enjoy a pleasant, successful walk at the park. movements for all, even ray. he used an oak leaf and a big buford wrapper to clean himself afterward. i do miss him so when he leaves for work.

after a successful nap, pf and i engage in a game of capture the flag. we are slightly disadvantaged as we have no "flag" so to speak, much less a second one for the opposing force. our match was still hearty and vigorous, albeit diminished to just running around the 1100 square foot apartment at breakneck speed on hardwood floors. the overwhelmed enemy now thwarted, not to mention imaginary, we retire to our crate to nap once more.

an hour later, i am, again, interrupted from the bastardized continuation of my once-perfect dream (pity it is never the same if you try to revisit the dream later.) i recognize the rumbling. it is my bowels. my chi again focused, however this time involuntarily. i must have been sleepwalking again while laying supine. i glance at the cable box, 4:30. oh the horror! kristen isn[apostrophe]t to be home for another hour! panicked, i gingerly waddle my way toward the front door. i know that i cannot reach the latch to let myself out, but ray and kristen seem to offer kind praise and encouragement when accidents are near the door. at least they associate potty with the door leading outside. they[apostrophe]re so cute. i stealthily sneak past the squeaky 3rd floorboard from the right of the door and assume my yogaic fecal-riddance pose. much to my chagrin, at that very instant, a starling happens by the living room window. he offers a beautiful, yet ear piercing melody. my retarded half-brother now clumsily skitters toward me, knocking me over and i lose my window.

she comes home some 50 minutes later and its all the same. mindless circles, never pausing nearly long enough to harness my energy. why? why? always the rush. surely rodin did not sculpt the thinker while his master tethered him to a rope of time constraints and tivo recorded programming from the eve before.

ray comes home a few hours later and we all enjoy a pleasant walk in the park. i pause under the sprinklers, looking upward with closed eyes, feeling their cool spray wash away my concerns and again dream of large hands in even larger jars spreading their delicious buffet upon their larger yet...

what th---bugger! (more times than not, cursing is more effective when portrayed as hugh grant in the rectory scene from four weddings and a funeral.) bloody sprinkler shut off. bollocks on your automatic timer cleveland heights recreation center. bollocks! bollocks! just take me home! i just wish to retire!