Into each life some rain must fall

mangy the dog

A resident at Qutb Minar

I’m beginning to suspect that I’m just a mangy puppy dog, constantly wagging my heart out for attention and approval.

How else to explain the motivational kick I get out of positive reinforcement from my boss? Or the nine-sign clouds I tread from just the word at just the time from just the one? Both inappropriately so, because (1) I should have impetus enough to get the job done and done well, and (2) the hon I make my one … best done in dreams, mate.

When the heck am I going to be weaned from these external stimuli? But I guess I’d rather be a mangy puppy, on the outside looking in, than a cold-hearted … rhymes with ditch.

But in the meantime, I really need to focus on what’s right in front of me, my inner and outer responsibilities. How sucky is it that I must continually learn to live in the present?

I’m storing up the gooey stuff to spin into songs. So forgive me if I don’t respond to gooey things in appropriately gooey ways.

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