Seems like it would be a nice life to have, pity I'll never know what it was like. I walk to the linen cupboard, grabbing a blanket and walk back to the couch frowning. I grasp her by the shoulders, moving her to lay down on her side and put her in the recovery position so she doesn't go choking in her sleep on her own vomit, or whatever else she can manage to do, I really don't think this is what they intended me to use this for when I was taught first aid in third grade. Came in handy though. I put the blanket over her, and stand up to stare at her blankly, looking like she's having the sleep if the century. I wish I knew what that felt like, I never sleep. I walk over to the lamp on the table next to the couch and switch it on, and walk turn off the main light at the switch on the wall above the couch, giving her one last glance before dragging my feet towards my bedroom. Typical day really - except for one thing, those damn green eyes. I push my door open to be greeted with yet another limp passed out body, except this one is snoring louder than an old man with sleep apnea on the floor and shut the door behind me. I smile to myself, walking over and crouching down and poke at his floppy jowl, listening to him snort and huff as he groggy brown eyes open. "Mornin' sleepy head" I coo, grinning when I see his little stumpy tail start wagging a hundred mile an hour and he rolls off his side to his tubby stomach and stands with his large tongue flopping out of his mouth - that wide open mouth smile that makes me get out of bed every day lighting up the room. I hold his face, smushing it and scratching at his little folded over ears as he pants and whines heavily "Did ya miss me Gizzy? I missed you" I say sweetly, leaning down to press a kiss to his wrinkly forehead. "You ready to go to bed?" I ask, pushing myself up to stand as I start to strip my clothes, tossing them on the floor as Gizmo plonks his butt back on the ground like standing is too much exercise. I swear this dog only wakes up, just so he can go straight back to sleep. It's like having a dog with narcolepsy. But I wouldn't change a thing about him. I change into a shirt to sleep in, walking over to my bed and patting it, urging the pork roast on legs to jump up onto it. "C'mon, let's get into bed" Gizmo waddles towards the bed, stopping and shuffling back and forth on his paws, wiggling his butt like he's working up the energy to jump, as if he's a toy car that has to be wound up to take off. He crouches down, pushing off the ground to launch onto to the bed, but as he pushes off the ground the effort must have been too much for him because he let's out a loud obnoxious fart that echoes through the room, before only making it half way on the bed and falling back on the ground with a snort and thud. I smack my hand to my face, shaking my head "God dammit Gizmo" He struggles off his side, back to his feet and stares at me with a huff and I press my lips together trying not to laugh "I'm sorry, you did great, I'm sure the bed just grew taller over night - I wasn't going to laugh I promise" I tell him, walking over to wrap my arms around his torso. I suck in a deep breath, using all my strength as I lift him and hoist him onto the bed with a strained grunt, my back nearly giving out "Holy fuck it's like you have bricks for organs" Gizmo whines, dropping on the bed and falling on his side and stares up at me. "Don't give me that face, I wasn't calling you fat, you're husky, I'm sure it's all muscle and- oh god" the smell suddenly hits me, and chokes me cutting off my sentence. I gag and cough, pulling the collar of my t-shirt over my face, waving my other hand frantically to try and get the stench away from me. Gizmos farts are like assassins, they just creep up on you and knock you out, out of no where. My eyes water as I glare at Gizmo, who is just watching me calmly, while I slowly suffocate to death. It's like someone took rotten eggs, fermented them, and put them in a bowl of off milk on a hot day and locked you in a room with it. "What kind of living thing can produce a smell like that!" I splutter, rushing to switch on the ceiling fan and grab a can of deodorant off my dresser and spray it in the air. "It's like you keep road kill in a chamber up your ass, how is this fucking normal" I choke. I grab the bedroom door, opening it, pulling it back and forth to try and air the room out, holding my breath as I keep glaring at the gas grenade with eyes on my bed. Once I'm done with the door, I crawl on the bed to my bedroom window, opening it and press my face to the fly screen, gasping for some kind of clean air desperately. By the time the smell finally dissipates Gizmo is already passed out snoring again, his jowl vibrating and making whistle noises every time he exhales. I turn on my bedside lamp, before I get up to turn the light off - I can't sleep in the dark, it terrifies me, which at my age isn't something I like to brag about. I crawl back into bed under the covers, sitting up with my back against the wall and grabbing my journal off the bedside table and place it in my lap, running my fingers over the embossed patterns in the leather on the front cover. I flick through it until I reach a blank page, even though all of these pages only have one word written on them anyway. I take my pen from the bedside table, tapping it thoughtfully against the page, before placing the capped end between my teeth, pulling the pen from my lid and holding it between my teeth as I start to write on the page. For the first time since I started it, I write something new. '#333 - 11/04/2018 Green eyes. Felt something. Not sure what.'