Sometimes All You Have in the Entire World is Fake Richard Simmons

Richard Simmons offered me some cardio-dance therapy last night:

“Everything is shot,” he yelled while marching in place and flailing his arms wildly, “so pet a dog!”

This was followed by him air-petting an imaginary dog in an exaggerated and rhythmic motion.

Did I mention that this was a dream?  Amidst a bevy of now standard nightmares, this was a thing that happened.  It’s like my brain could no longer even handle itself and was all, “here, does this make anything better? Dogs?  Could dogs help?”  No, my tired brain, dogs are useless to fix my current problems.  However, I would like to thank you for the departure from the even less helpful dreams in which I replay all of my current problems, only at warp speed.

I also appreciate the randomness of the advice given.  It’s like saying, so if everything is hideous, just accept it.  Just roll with it and do some small non-hideous thing, like petting a dog.   This is pretty much how I operate on a daily basis at this point anyway.  With everything in upheaval, I pick up my cat (sorry, dogs) and sigh.  At least I have these cats.  At least the sun still feels nice against my skin because it isn’t winter yet.  And, occasionally, when I have nothing else to keep me sane, I have fake Richard Simmons, telling me that amidst all of this bullshit somebody has a dog that I could pet.  So there.  Pet a fucking dog and live your life.  Thank you, fake Richard Simmons for your cardio-dance therapy.  Your flailing arms and shiny mini shorts are just absurd enough for me to resign myself to a cruel and random universe.

Everything is shot.  So pet a dog.

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