Woofin'
I stroke the head of my newest teacher
A friendly, furry, four-legged teacher
Please, my professor, teach me to be
What so many have spat at me
"You bitch, you bitch, you awful bitch
"How dare you NOT scratch my itch!"
Please step up to the lectern, my furry witch
Teach me to be a REAL bitch
My four-legged dogs of both genders have been remarkably consistent in teaching me that they will bite the most beloved of hands in self-defense as surely as they will forgive and resume tail-wagging at the first sign of returning to reasonable behavior.
Monday morning was wonderfully focused and productive. My psychotropically medicated son emerged from his sleeping chamber just after I had finished my lunch and was laying down for a rest with my newest teacher. I found myself fissuring into manic behavior that my teacher was not able to lick away. Soon after, my self-medicated son called to ask if it was okay if he was late returning my car. He hung up on me when I was less than bubbly about it. I managed to calm myself enough to let my dog attempt to work her soothing magic as my doctor-medicated son tapped his cyber device in his impenetrable silence.
A few hours later I was attempting to pull myself out of the fetal position on the couch when my self-medicated son brought my car back and began reciting his latest list of opportunities to serve him. I silently went outside to smoke a cig. I have said all I have to say on this subject. If these grown men did not hear me the last hundred times I attempted to explain my position, I have no reason to expect them to hear me now. I am well into my purest insanity of expecting new results from the same old actions.
I was not too many puffs into my smoke screen before I heard my car start up in the driveway. When I went out front to gesture the question, "What are you doing?" the 32 year old man shot out of the car, explaining his actions in hateful tones. I lost it. I began barking and snarling in tones my self-medicated son only wishes he could master. In less than five minutes the ground in front of the pedestal of Maternal Evil was free of grown men.
On my newest teachers advice, I have resumed my quest for the ultimate spot to pee. Yesterday morning found me with the friends who are teaching me Chinese. The afternoon found me at the fabric store buying the materials with which I will accept their invitation to join their sewing circle. The love of my life has been listening patiently.
I am still shaky and triggering, but I am feeling hopeful.
A friendly, furry, four-legged teacher
Please, my professor, teach me to be
What so many have spat at me
"You bitch, you bitch, you awful bitch
"How dare you NOT scratch my itch!"
Please step up to the lectern, my furry witch
Teach me to be a REAL bitch
My four-legged dogs of both genders have been remarkably consistent in teaching me that they will bite the most beloved of hands in self-defense as surely as they will forgive and resume tail-wagging at the first sign of returning to reasonable behavior.
Monday morning was wonderfully focused and productive. My psychotropically medicated son emerged from his sleeping chamber just after I had finished my lunch and was laying down for a rest with my newest teacher. I found myself fissuring into manic behavior that my teacher was not able to lick away. Soon after, my self-medicated son called to ask if it was okay if he was late returning my car. He hung up on me when I was less than bubbly about it. I managed to calm myself enough to let my dog attempt to work her soothing magic as my doctor-medicated son tapped his cyber device in his impenetrable silence.
A few hours later I was attempting to pull myself out of the fetal position on the couch when my self-medicated son brought my car back and began reciting his latest list of opportunities to serve him. I silently went outside to smoke a cig. I have said all I have to say on this subject. If these grown men did not hear me the last hundred times I attempted to explain my position, I have no reason to expect them to hear me now. I am well into my purest insanity of expecting new results from the same old actions.
I was not too many puffs into my smoke screen before I heard my car start up in the driveway. When I went out front to gesture the question, "What are you doing?" the 32 year old man shot out of the car, explaining his actions in hateful tones. I lost it. I began barking and snarling in tones my self-medicated son only wishes he could master. In less than five minutes the ground in front of the pedestal of Maternal Evil was free of grown men.
On my newest teachers advice, I have resumed my quest for the ultimate spot to pee. Yesterday morning found me with the friends who are teaching me Chinese. The afternoon found me at the fabric store buying the materials with which I will accept their invitation to join their sewing circle. The love of my life has been listening patiently.
I am still shaky and triggering, but I am feeling hopeful.
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