The dream started out with a girl in the 4th grade explaining to her class that the teacher was wrong about the complex math problem. She went to the board and began scribbling chalk and talking in a speedy, unintelligible frenzy about how wrong the teacher is and how she was justified in killing a student who agreed with the teacher. The rest of the class sat groggy and half paying attention as the super genius child pointed out how frail of mind everyone around her is and how she is held back by their incompetence. As she went on and on her classmates began to rouse from their eerie, inexplicable slumber only to vehemently complain about religious groups who visited the class and tried to convert them. “Dirty Mormons” and “Slick Jehovah’s Witnesses” and “Fiendish Catholics” all tried to give them a gospel they wanted no part of. The students were angry as they filed one by one out of the classroom, cursing God as they went.
Monthly Archive for October, 2010
Page 2 of 3
It’s not just our secrets that we entrust to a therapist, we also trust that they’ll act when its needed.
In my head I hear Dr. D accuse me of looking for a reason to quit. He never said it nor did he imply it, its just what I hear in my head when I say, I feel like our therapeutic relationship is in big trouble. I’m not “over” feeling like he turned his head and ignored what was going on. I’m angry about it but I go in and I don’t say to him, Dr. D I’m still angry. I don’t because I fear it’ll be turned around on me or I’ll get some phrase like, “I dropped the ball.” That phrase pisses me off too because it seems so open and shut. I dropped the ball. I want to know what on earth he was doing in the two months I was flipping out? We’re talking about two months, that’s a hell of a lot of time to ignore what was going on. That’s what it feels like was done, like it was simply ignored. I want to know why.
As usual, Gus has stepped into the role of good papa.
If she squeaks Gus is up and right there to see what’s up. He cleans her and watches out for her. It’s too cute. Sometimes Isabelle gets confused and attempts to nurse off Gus but she finds out quickly he’s not really mama. Gus yelps then jumps up like, OMG, WTH?
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I’m not sure how long its been since I broke out the needle and thread, but I finally did and here’s what I’ve done.
When it comes to projects I seem to be really motivated at first but when I get really close to finishing it, I tend to walk away. All I needed to do with this doll here was add a button and stitch a few things on her scarf but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She sat for days unfinished because I was no longer interested in putting on her finishing touches. It was almost as if I didn’t want to end the project. What would I do with myself then? There’s almost a sadness to projects that have reached their conclusion and its almost as if I forget I can start another. I believe there’s also a deep fear of accomplishing something, of going through the entire process from beginning to end with pride. I don’t know. I did finish her and I like her quite a lot. Go see the earth friendly bag holder here.
Two more are on the way.
fma
I spoke with someone the other day about how to photoshop clean their house.
In photos I’ve posted I’ve noticed things I didn’t like or didn’t want shown so I photoshop them out of the picture. Since I’m sometimes lazy I’ll take a photo then photoshop dust or photoshop clean my table off. This was back in 2006 when I first hired photoshop ‘Gretta the maid’ which means she didn’t have the skills she has now, but she still did a pretty good job. The desk used to be full of stuff but now it’s not. Thank you photoshop maid.
I want is to scribble all over the place. I want to throw together illegible yet loud images one by one until my head is quiet. I want to scribble out my frustrations with large markers and a broad paint brush, on a big white poster board. I want to take a red crayon and scratch it across the page, rip yellow right through it then follow it up with green, encase the whole thing in black. I want to scream out loud in color. I want to scream. I want to scribble, but I’m much too controlled for that.
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The writing on the first art therapy piece says: What could I have done differently? Was I really that powerless? Continue reading ‘The Mad Scribbler’
One week old, female, orphaned kitten now named Isabella. I swore I wouldn’t do another foster but once I saw this face what could I do but accept the assignment?
She’s bottle fed every two hours, burped then put back to bed. This little tiny itsy bitsy thing is rather quiet right now but when she’s about 3 weeks old she’ll be much louder in her protests.
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