Nobody Needs a Second Dinosaur

Today I woke a little extra early so we could take advantage of the beautiful weather between the wife’s jobs (she’s a yoga instructor… and if I happen to be repeating myself here, well, shucks. Blame my boundless love instead of my documented confusion.). Our favorite park is the one that’s closest — we were able to sneak in a quick 20-minute dog walk there. 

Within 50′ of the car, I was uncomfortably dizzy; every step I took seemed to shake the entire world around me. I guess I appreciate that Cowboy stopped every few yards to pee (and thereby own? #itsadogthing) because it forced me to pause and gather again my bearings: 

Picture that glass of water in Jurassic Park that ripples a little every time T-Rex takes a step. My walking world exists in that glass of water. 


But everyone else lives in the Jeep and has other concerns. Like hungry dinosaurs who smell fear.

That’s why it doesn’t do me much good to complain all the time… complaining largely only “fixes” the smiling faces of others around you who are all dealing with their own T-Rex. At best, it helps you transfer negative energy to someone else who happens to be able to handle a second dinosaur.

But isn’t that a lot to ask?

Wife holding Cowboy... can you feel the love?

Wife holding Cowboy… can you feel the love?

I can’t make the things I find uncomfortable about living in a human body stop. Not even ignoring those things works. Today in our 20 minute walk, my dizziness escalated sharply within 50′, stomach began cramping and left foot began itching maddeningly within five minutes and my speech began to slur within ten. Still, the weather was beautiful… after full summer in SC, I appreciate a fall-like morning, and even better for it when in nature.

After the first ten minutes or so, I spotted a tree that I couldn’t help but stopping against — I wanted to be still for a moment and really be able to see what I was touching through the glass of water. When my palm flattened against the bark, I could better regard the texture over which my eyes wanted to tremble.

I felt happy to be there and to be alive. 



  1. I can’t find the exact quote, but it goes something like this: Shared happiness is multiplied while shared sorrow is divided. Sharing our woes lightens our load and brings us closer to those who love us. Besides, we’d explode if we kept it all inside!

    • oligoclonal
    • August 28th, 2014

    Fair point! 🙂

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