Click here to see the first, unedited, handwritten version of this entry.

[Note: This was written about one month and a half ago.]

Last night, I wanted to sleep beside Irby. Since his bladder isn't completely reliable yet (it's getting there), and since he gets bored on the bed and eventually jumps off to terrorize the female stuffed animals, I couldn't let him sleep on my bed. So, I did the next best thing: I slept in the bathroom, sans the burning blend of alcohol and stomach acid (or bad Chinese food).

I laid a blanket on the bathroom floor, placed a puppy pad alongside my makeshift mattress, and dozed off (unable to keep Irby in my arms [that's not the point]). I awoke to find an organized, Martha Stewart-esque (sans jail time) pile of canine feces placed smack dab in the center of the puppy pad. Truthfully, I was brimming with pride: He relieved himself in the exact rigth spot!

Ah, my priorities are all mixed up (as if you couldn't tell).