10/26, 5:30pm—Austin TX, Burnet Road

I wanted to go to Olive Garden and not think of death.

I spent the day distracted—Dio went into surgery, one the vet described as “minor” to repair an abdominal hernia that came about as a result of the life-threatening infection he survived earlier this week, which beats most other kinds of surgery, but is still, you know, a little intense. I managed to eke my way through the things that have needed eking through—I’m actually covering a film festival right now!—and reminded myself that life feels better when you move around more, so I rode my bike downtown in the morning. It was a nice day, which we haven’t seen many of lately, and I tried to put myself in a good mood.

It didn’t really work, but it also wasn’t a complete failure. I made a deal to smile at every single dog I saw, a task I would complete for the secret chiefs that control the universe in exchange for taking gentle care with Dio. Smiling at dogs is nice, though, and there’s really no good reason not to do it always. Looking kindly upon every dog you meet makes it easier to look kindly at the people with them, and looking kindly at dog owners allows you to extend some emotional generosity toward people who are not currently accompanied by a dog. Why not, you know? All of this stuff is free.

So is Olive Garden, when you have a Pasta Pass, and multiple veterinary surgeries are very much not free, so eating cheap is on the agenda right now. When I got home, I made a cursory attempt at cleaning before Kat flies in tonight, then headed up to the Olive Garden for what I considered a late lunch, even if it was really ultimately more of a not-even-all-that-early dinner—I haven’t been eating all that consistently this week, something that comes with worry.

But I tried not to worry much tonight. This surgery was minor, I reminded myself when I felt it creep up. I wanted to feel normal, and eat food, and read a little, so I went to the Olive Garden.

I sat at the bar and skipped on the soup and salad. The server, who was not particularly busy, had seen my kind before. They had bottled water for free because Austin’s water is still full of poison, and she told me that they had shipped in bags and bags of ice from outside of the city. She took my order, which was rigatoni with meatballs and marinara—a half-assed attempt to change it up and not just order the same exact thing again—and returned promptly with it, the way they often do when they’re dealing with someone who skips the salad and bread.

I read comic books on my iPad—my attention span is shot right now, and following a narrative beats just endlessly refreshing FiveThirtyEight like a maniac—and caught up on Mairghread Scott’s run on Batgirl, which is good, looks interested in going some interesting places with the character. I had time to kill before the film screening I was assigned to cover in the evening, and I found sitting there pleasantly diverting, so I placed a second order—angel hair with crispy chicken and five-cheese marinara, even though I always think I don’t like angel hair.

It turns out I don’t, really (the texture is too soft, at least at the Olive Garden), so I picked at the chicken and mostly left the pasta, which was fine. Eating a second portion on a pasta pass is like playing with house money.

I left my customary three one-dollar bills after she swiped my pasta pass, and headed home. Shortly after I got back, the vet called, and I was told that the surgery went well. Between the two operations, Dio had been cured of cancer, relieved of an obstruction in his intestine, healed from a dangerous infection, and had his abdominal wall surgically repaired. Dealing with any—let alone all—of those things isn’t much fun, but it beats not dealing with them.