I found out by accident earlier today that some dear ones have started a go-fund-me type thing to help with the vet bills (which are crazy high, debtdebtdebtdebtdebt). A coworker I had just told about the situation a little earlier went to hand me some money "for my fund" and I was like "What?" and after a little back-and-forth it came out that there has been secret plotting going on on my behalf, outta sympathy for the doggie-dog and me. It's so touching it makes me wanna cry just thinking about it.
On my way home yesterday I stopped in an antique mall, mostly to try to get some exercise, walking around in there. (Used Meijer's's the same way when I was back in town.) Walking around among all the old things felt like being in a sort of cemetary of leftovers from the lives of dead people. I mean, a number of the booths were, like, mostly the Hot Wheels collection somebody is apparently trying to sell off, or even weird original art
, and there were lots of dog-related things I might not have noticed the extent of earlier
, but mostly it felt dusty and sad and evocative of hundreds of now-over lives, and I had a hard time remembering what it felt like to get a kick out of wandering among old stuff like that, as I know I usedta, maybe being struck by how my grandmother used to have a [kitchen thing] like that, or something along those lines.