Unbelievable.

1. I put an adoption hold on a dog from the Heartland Humane Society, after three years of planning and dreaming and (some, I'll admit, only some) saving. He is not at all what I expected: a white, scraggly, half-starved stray with large batlike ears, dainty feet, and a pathetically drooping tail, twelve pounds in all, with the most soulful eyes you've ever seen. He is at least half Chihuahua (I know, I know), and the Humane Society's name for him is Perkins (I freaking know). But he chose me; he looked at me and telepathically whispered "Vamos."
2. Then, (after setting my heart on this rather sorry excuse for a canine,) I found out that my apartment technically doesn't allow pets, even though it's pretty much teeming with cats and some kind of a hound that howls whenever someone turns the telly too loud. These, according to Von Asscrack Property Management, are all "designated companion" creatures.
3. So it comes down to this: tomorrow I'm going tomorrow to get a medical referral for pet ownership. Yes, I'm dead serous. My appointment is at 1:30, and I plan to cite my last eight years' worth of depression medications, counseling sessions, and psychological testing to back up my point that sometimes I need a furry little ball of bizarrity. (I'm not on meds anymore or any of that, but I think dogs are important to my emotional well-being nevertheless.) So, in short,
4. Heaven help me.
5. And may the doctor's note from the University not cost me an arm and a leg.