Overreacting

Blogging in class! Blogging in class! Totally. Totally. Blogging in class.

That's a new song that I've written. Hmm. Let me share some stories. Just for blogging purposes. Recording memories. Junk. Like that.

A story of Aristotle and I.

My little baby Aristotle. He is a doll. Or a lizard, but a doll, in that he is cute.

One day I took him out and put him on my leg and played with him. He'd walk around and it was just so cute. I just sat there and watched. After a while, I started studying, and let him crawl all over. He crawled up my leg. He crawled up my shirt. Onto my shoulder. He tried crawling in my hair and it tickled. I kept studying. After a while, I noticed I hadn't felt him for a while. So I felt my back. He wasn't there.

I brushed my hair. He wasn't there.

I looked all around my chair.

Where did he go?

I jumped up and got down on my knees and started crawling around, looking for him.

I found him near the door of my bedroom. Just walkin along casually.

Now let me tell you a story about Aristotle Stupid Socks. When I put him on the floor, he will walk around. When he gets out of arms reach, he's a mad man. But it's nothing like this. If he gets to the floor by himself, and is pretty sure that it was all of his doing, suddenly... he is a free beast. He is not my lizard anymore. He is a mighty ground dragon.

And that is what happened. I reached for him near the door, and he bolted.

I grabbed him, and he wriggled around like a snake. I clasped him tight and decided that he was too hyper for me to have out while studying, and went to put him back in the cage. When I did so.... he jumped.

He's good at jumping...

He jumped to the floor, and when he hit, he started writhing around. I stared at him and bent down and picked him up while he squirmed.

I put him in his cage and he writhed and writhed.... the poor baby. Eventually he stopped. And he dragged himself, limp back legs... into his skull in the cage.

I lost it. I burst into tears and went crazy.

I looked up a vet and called them. "Oh... it's after hours... but we can put you through to the emergency vet.... it'll cost $40 about..."

"ANYTHING. OK."

"Ok what's your pet's name?"

"Stu-oh. Aristotle."

"And is Aristotle a cat or a dog?"

"Um. A lizard. A gecko..."

They patched me through. Mainly the vet just calmed me down while I was sobbing hysterically. "I THINK HE BROKE HIS LEG!!!!!!!!"

 "Ok.... well I could come look at him tonight but it'll be about $90, and I don't recommend doing that..."

"HE'S HURT!!! WHAT DO I DO!!!!! He crawled into the skull! I don't think he can make it out to get water and food!"

"Well get him out and take all of the stuff out of his cage."

So I did. And I sat on the floor and cried while the vet calmed me down and said if he doesn't get better by tomorrow, bring him in....

I stood up. Hung up the phone.

And the punk was standing on his tail and his back legs, propping himself up against the glass.

He was fine.

And I spent $40 for nothing....

I'm an irrational pet parent.