The other night, after a whirlwind day of bargaining, selling, and cooking a scrumptious creamy mushroom broccoli bake from Vegan Yum Yum, I was laying on the couch watching Sex and the City (season 4) and decided it was time to hit the hay. Lola was passed out next to me, but as soon as I stood up, turned off the TV and said "bedtime!", she jumped up, pranced to the bedroom and proceeded to snuggle up on the bed. I love that we have this routine (as pathetic as that may sound), and as I stroked her belly, I began to realize that this wouldn't be my norm for much longer. And, naturally, I burst into tears and proceeded to hysterically bawl into my poor pup's face/back/tummy for the next 30 minutes.
Lola is the first in a series of goodbyes that I'll have to say in the next month. I've never really had to say goodbye, at least not since I moved from Louisiana in the 7th grade. Sure friends have come and gone, but I never moved. I was always here and happy to stay (Austin is, after all, the BEST city in Texas). But now I'm the one who's leaving, and it's starting to dawn on me what exactly that means... Saying goodbye. It's kind of sad.