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{Reservations} {Tickets} {Map} {Photos} {Souvaniers} {Postcards} {Design} 2002-10-22 | 9:30 p.m. music: james taylor ~ country road Mercy I feel good. I do! Picked up this book on a whim, little bit of a thing, actually, and I'm more than half way through it and feeling totally enlightened. While reading it, I recalled something that seems to be important to me lately. A memory. Of living in a tiny 3 room bungalo at the bottom of a hill, next to a large house in Groton. At that time I was in 2nd and 3rd grade, and had the esteemed priveledge of walking to and from school for lunch every day. It's while we lived there that my Mom got a silver toy poodle named, appropriately "Gigi". She was just adorable, and absolutely sweet tempered as a dog comes. Of course, she was no bigger than a kitten when we got her. For some reason, I decided to play with her on the bed, and as part of the game, I trapped her under the covers and squeezed her. Hard. Really hard, but not hard enough to cause any lasting injury. Also, while living in that little house, I developed a tick. It consisted of me wiping my drool from the corners of my mouth onto the back of my right hand, specifically the middle finger knuckle. I liked it. It smelled fruity and musky, fragrant; like me. I kept doing it. My knuckle got chapped, and in the cold, dry New England weather, my skin opened up and grew firey red. The repetative wiping motion would have alerted anyone, anyway, but that hand!! Wow. Some of the edges of the wound, which covered my entire knuckle, turned up a bit, like delicious little hang nails, and I picked at them with my teeth. Then, the one time, really the only time I can remember my Dad seeming to react with feeling, he came at me with a roll of gauze and wrapped my hand. His face was sort of kind, and his big, dark eyes looked at and through me and he said "What is she DOING to you?" but he didn't want an answer. I started lying alot them too. About stupid stuff, to avoid getting punished. She bent me over her lap and slammed my behind with the brissle end of a hairbrush one time, because I embarassed myself and her in public. Apparently I was doing ballet moves in the center isle of worship services. I think I was 7 or 8. What was she doing to me? Other than make me a nervous wreck, I don't know. I think she would have felt alot better about everything if she had read this book. Starting tomorrow I'm cutting out all refined sugar, flour and wheat products. Miss These? absence of life - 2003-07-28 |
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