It's been a... week all right. Not sure what kind of week, but it's been.
The weekend was filled with my volunteeriness of picking up beaches and planting native trees/plants in New Zealand. It was nice to be out in the sun and the like, though it was with the same people I'd just been with the previous two weeks in Australia. While they taught themselves to break dance, I spent a lot of time watching the rugby game, which turned out to be 108 (All Blacks) to 13. I now have a thing for Nick Evans. Let's hear some applause.
Monday came around for me and I went to class, found people liked my story, which was a good thing. The problem with it was exactly what I thought: it's too subject orientated. But I think I know how to fix that.
In my poetry class, we read some more poems in the elegy section and a girl burst out into tears near the end of her poem. We all suddenly didn't know how to react, especially when we were supposed to critic. How do you tell someone that their poem needs work when it's something delicate to the soul?
But the rest of the day seemed to be death for me as well--I was told that my dog Maggie had been hit and killed by a car.
I've been taking it a bit harder than I thought, just because I keep thinking about how small she is and how harsh of an impact the car would make. I keep thinking about how it could have happened, what could have prevented it and that I'll never be able to pet her again.
Maggie followed me around the house. She was my little duckling when I came home. She cuddled, gave kisses and kept my feet warm.
She also crapped all over the floor, but that's besides the point.
I'm happy to say that my parents made a cross for her and Suki, who was well over-due, but none of us had ever felt okay with going up to the grave. I, myself, felt very uncomfortable and would almost burst into tears whenever I got too close.
I don't know what I'll do when I get home. But I know that I'm now fighting this urge to call my flight and make it just go all the way home, rather than pit-stop in San Diego.
But I miss Auntie Meg too much. And, somehow, life goes on.
Random Fact: Crocodile babies don't have sex chromosomes; the temperature at which the egg develops determines gender.