Nice evening

I cooked spaghetti for dinner. I used a packet of bow-tie pasta, which I found soooooo yum! Man I’m gonna write for ages now. I didn’t know if the meal would turn out, but it did thank Christ. There’s big heaps in the pot too, and there’s a big bowl on the bench, ready for the left-overs to go into later. Mum and B are in the lounge and I’m in my room. I figured a nice dinner would go down well for them, since they won’t have to cook at all. B is really glad to not have to worry about dinner, so I think I’m having a good night! Mum is whinging about work right now, but I’m getting my turn when I start work. Yea! It can’t be all that bad. Mistakes happen. If I can cook tea, I can help out in a commercial place too, if I put some thought and effort into it.

Troy is having a good time lying on his sheet. This dry season has gotten so flaming freezing cold that Troy didn’t like having half his body on cold tiles. So a big sheet folded over a few times has really worked well for him. It’s all good though, dry season weather is so much lovelier compared to the shitty wet season horrible damn $ crap. Honestly, I’d be much happier if the dry season stayed that way all year round. I so can’t understand how people can live in places like Singapore and other places on the Equator. I mean, Darwin is close enough don’t you think? You’d think that people would leave the hottest parts of the earth for cooler places, but they don’t. I’d imagine people would think the same of the Arctic peoples! Apparently we’re all meant to live where we’re born to live. Not that I was born in Darwin… but I’m guessing you’ll see my point. All I’m thinking of this whole weather thing is that I’d much rather it be cool than hot, that’s absolutely certain.

Ok, I think I got myself off track! I was actually talking about Troy, till I got lost on the weather. So, let’s go back to my other story. Hahahahaha I hate it when I lose track when I don’t realise it! Oh well, Troy’s doing all right. He loves going out every day, I don’t know when that’ll end. I don’t want it to, but supposedly, he’ll slow down as he gets older. Frankly, I’m not seeing it. I think Troy is a rare dog. I hope he doesn’t succumb to age. By the time he’s ten years old, he’ll know almost everything he needs to know about me. By then when he’s ready to retire, I won’t have a clue what I’ll do with myself, knowing that I’ll have to teach the next dog all over again. I hope I don’t forget that the next dog isn’t Troy. I know I technically won’t, but supposedly people get caught up on the idea of teaching the next dog the same stuff that their other dog knew, that they sometimes forget momentarily that the new dog is still learning the old tricks. So long as Troy wants to work till he’s very old, I’ll be fine with that. I’ll get the vet to check him in October and I hope they give me good news about him. Every time I’m told he looks good when I get him weighed, I feel relieved that he’s still all right, but then I freak out that maybe he’s probably not, just that the vet nurse isn’t seeing it yet. But then I tell myself that Troy was doing perfectly fine before I took him to the vet, so he can’t be hiding a problem or illness yet. By the way, Troy is 31.8 kilograms! He’s still within his recommended weight range. I’ve decided to have him weighed every three to four weeks. Sometimes he seems a bit skinnier than at other times, so I figured that if anyone wants to argue with me, they can’t argue with the official scale readings. I hate people telling me how to look after Troy anyway, so I don’t exactly care. All I care about is that I know what Troy’s weight is just to be on the safe side, and whatever else people want to think is what’s in their heads at the time. Troy isn’t feeling or thinking half of the time what we assume he feels or thinks. So I think he’s fine, until he acts different or something odd. As far as I’m concerned, Troy doesn’t need to be treated like he has a problem, so what others want to insist about him isn’t going to be considered with more than a grain of salt, because he ain’t their dog. Tell me something real that’s happening to Troy, and I might believe you.

I heard Mum whinging about my spaghetti. Ok, so if she doesn’t like that I’ve used a while packet of pasta because just half the packet didn’t thicken the food, that’s the problem in her head. If she doesn’t like the way I cook food, then she doesn’t have to eat my food. I’m really sick of her making up the rules about how she thinks things should be done, without giving someone else a turn! Ok then Mum, don’t eat my food then, and don’t expect me to cook for you when you get old. If you want to make up the rules, you cook the food. Don’t make me into a slave. Ok, anger is over. All I’m saying is that I liked the food, and I shall cook it again, however I frigging damn well want. Not everything has to be absolutely perfect to one single recipe. What I’m going to tell Mum is that what she’s thinking is her idea of what’s meant to be, so since I cooked the food, I don’t really give a damn. She doesn’t have to like the food. She needs to either say she likes it, or leave the food for someone else to like. Criticizing me will tell me that she’s more interested in suiting her own life by making things as difficult as she can for me, rather than the simple yes or no, which will tell me that she doesn’t like it but it’s my dinner so who cares. I don’t take criticism unless people can criticize me in such a way that they’re only telling me what they think, not what they expect me to feel according to their life. Basically, if criticisms aren’t being pushed into my life, I’ll take them. Otherwise keep them to yourself. That’s my point. Oh well, too bad. Mum can’t tell me how to cook all the time. All she can do is say she doesn’t like the food and move on.

I gave Troy a good pat and cuddle before I had my shower. I still find patting Troy as therapeutic as when I first got him! I’m wondering now how I’ll be with the next dog. Ok that’s another reminder! How many reminders do I need in one day? But anyway, I was reading a post from 2011, about how I’d make another blog for the new dog. To be quite honest, I’d rather not do that now. I can just let him/her be the character in this one, just like I’ve done with Troy. I spend enough time updating one dog let alone having to update another one. One blog is enough, so I’m keeping this one. I’m glad I’ve changed the title last year. If I had left the previous title how it was, it wouldn’t be right for the new dog. I could change the dog’s name, but then the title would get boring eventually, being that we can find out about who is with who when reading the entries. However, choosing the title “My life as a blind person”, will always give someone a reason to want to read the blog! It’ll leave people wondering what blind person is writing, what guide dog do they have, or do they even have a guide dog, all that sort of stuff. This title leaves things open so that I’ll always get readers. But like I said at the start, readers or no readers, I like my blog how it is. It just makes more sense to have a neutral title. For anyone who might want to read this, at least they’re left wondering about what this whole site is about, besides the little blurb in it.

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