Day Fifty Six: Cursed

Tom had to go out and get us cursed. He didn't inform me of this until last night, at which time a plethora of seemingly unrelated misfortunes that have fallen upon us in the last five days rearranged themselves into a divine pattern.
Apparently on Sunday morning, Tom took our dog, Bonsai, on his first walk of the day without carrying the essential cleanup bag. I would like to pretend for the sake of my pride that this is a rare occurence, that the thought of the bag merely happened to slip his mind on this isolated event. More than that, I would like to say that unlike my life partner, I am a conscientious citizen, always leaving on dog walks armed with not one, but multiple bags... because let's face it, you never know. Alas, this is not the case. Here is my dark secret. I hardly ever take bags with me. There! I said it! It makes me a horrible neighbor, a bad citizen, and a slothful person, but I simply cannot stand that particular task involved in pet care. I know there are people out there saying, "Well, maybe you shouldn't have a dog then." Let me plead my case. I am not lazy and if you really know all that I have to do in order to cover up this bad habit, you'd see that it actually takes more work to neglect my duties as a dog owner.

For example, you are stressed out the whole time you take your dog on a walk, always looking over your shoulder for nosy spectators who might disapprove. You rush your dog past lawns where people are standing and talking especially in he's sniffing around in circles. Then if someone does actually witness your dog taking a dump, they ALWAYS check to see if you are going to clean it up or not. This is when you have to hone your acting skills, standing on your tip toes, craning your neck, as you wait impatiently for the person who is coming soon, with the required bags. This requires rolling your eyes at that someone (who really isn't coming), sighing loudly, and maybe even groaning. If they look at you with derision, it's ok. At least that saves you the embarrassment of lying. I'm also a fan of crossing my fingers, wishing constipation on my dog, so whoever is observing feels too embarrassed to watch the whole ordeal. I'm also a fan of pretending to send a text message after he's unloaded onto someones lawn, purposely standing there as if to say, "I'm going to get it, don't worry, I just have to take care of this first..." and then and soon as they turn the corner, I bolt. My phone is usually lost, so this is a trick I can only use on special occasions.

Tom basically does the same thing. Except when I'm walking with him he'll say, "Honey? Can I have the bag? What?! You forgot the bag?!?!?!" which usually works because people's need to involve themselves in the habits and lives of strangers is quelled by witnessing a domestic altercation. Blood thirsty savages.
Unfortunately, I wasn't with Tom on Sunday morning when Bonsai took a Brontosaurus size dump on the tidy, pleasant lawn of someone in our complex. Tom had no one to deflect the blame onto. So when the crotchety, withered asian man emerged from his cave like domicile, his only response to the the man's angry, "You clean up lawn! We keep this clean! You clean up for your dog!" was a meek and slightly offended, "I'm going to." Yeah, right! I probably wouldn't have believed him either, and when he didn't show up during the day with a bag in hand, I might have felt justified in cursing him too.

Yes, we've been cursed by a small, venomous sorcerer who lives in our complex. Or at least this is what Tom would have me believe. Which is why yesterday during a rainstorm, he spitefully walked Bonsai back to the wizard's lawn and let him go at it again. Then he spit on the man's car. Tom assures me that, "Spitting is a magical thing. It breaks curses." I'm doubtful. Personally, I still feel pretty cursed.
My sprained ankle isn't better today, it's worse.
We haven't sold the van yet.
Tom keeps getting screwed by his clients.
I finished a painting (the red jellyfish), but I feel no emotion about it. Except for dread at the prospect of thinking up an idea for a better painting.

Although I was able to make another painting today, inspired by Schiele, it looked TOO much like his work. When I was done, I felt like I had just performed a party trick...not created a work of art. I showed it to a fellow artists who said that it was cool, very cool, but too Schiele. The painting I had created could not be called my own in all seriousness.

Asian wizard man, I'd like my talent and originality back, please.

So if ANYONE knows any handy tricks to reverse nasty curses, please let me know! I'd like to have my life and enthusiasm for it back ASAP!