plasticwrap

Missing My Sock

We're a pair and it genuinely feels like I'm missing half of me. It's weird not having anybody to talk to, sing along to the radio with, and no tongue straight in my face as soon as my eyes open in the morning. Sock is so proud of her babies though. I'm really glad we decided to breed her, she is loving the experience.

I have put my foot down about one thing though. No docking, with the unfortunate possible exception of pup that we are obligated to give the breeder who supplied the stud dog. She has over 50 dogs and if you breed them on that scale - particularly breeding females - it's just too messy to have all the extra feathering of the tail.

I was saying to Deb, no way, none of them should be docked - and then she kind of explained to me that this was a big enough deal to be jepoardising her relationship with the stud-dog breeder, and by extension, the high breeding circles both in NZ and the USA, UK and Australia. So I said to her, well, you know your business - unfortunately, they have to be docked within the first 5 days before the cartilage in the tail turns to bone. But I'm not having anything to do with it, I think it's cruel. Thankfully all the others are keeping their tails.

I mean, look at that face and tell me you want to chop off its tail.

Graphic Novels (The Good Kind)

I can't remember the name of the author of the book, but if you have read and enjoyed/learned from the Maus books then you should read Persepolis which is the story of a girl growing up during the Iranian revolution.

It's More Than Most Get

I'm in the middle of a letter to my grandparents. I write to them probably once a month or so. I keep struggling to find things to say that are neither offensive, boring or patronising. I probably (as usual) err on the side of saying than silence. I just keep telling myself that not many 24yr-old grandchildren write to their grandparents 12 or 15 times are year.

I have no idea if mum has mentioned to them that I'm no longer speaking to my parents. I decided I may as well raise the issue just in case they haven't, because I want my grandparents to understand why I won't be attending a wedding later this year.

I tried to be straightfoward and make it factual and non-accusatory. I just said that things aren't the best between my parents and I, and that I am taking some time away from them to work through some feelings, especially around the church/cult my parents bought us up in.

Either Grandma will hate my actions as much as she dislikes my paintings, or she will understand, given that my parents basically cut themselves off from their families in the early days of their association with the church. So I should imagine there are few parallels.

Either way, I don't particularly mind. But one thing I really don't want to buy into anymore is the culture of 'least said, soonest mended' because I think that too often, least said leads to mental gangrene. I'm not ashamed of my actions in this situation and don't intend to act guilty.

A Hacksaw To Escape This Fucking Prison, Please

I have put on quite a lot of weight (more than a kilo) and it is provoking the age old dialogue of "I need to gain weight but I can't stand the way I look when I do." I just don't know what to do about it - I mean, I need the nutrition but surely it is possible to be well nourished without also gaining weight? It just makes me so anxious and confused and sad all the fucking time, it makes it so tempting to just go with the path of least resistance.

It upsets me a lot to be able to pick up fat rolls on my stomach and stuff. I can't possibly be this fat and also describe myself as anorexic anymore. That is good. I need to do more exercise to build the fat into abs. Sit-ups, here we come...

Excessive Tolerance

The painkillers my specialist gave me are not working anymore, not even at twice the maximum dosage. I think I see him sometime this week so I will have a begging session with him then. The problem is that most doctors simply don't believe me when I earnestly explain in great detail that my metabolism becomes tolerant to drugs extemely quickly. If they saw the hours I spend rocking to and fro each day and night trying to find a position that hurts a little less, they might believe me... or they might think that rocking and twisting are a mental disorder involving the compulsion to collect cats and tinfoil. Who knows?

Conspiracy Theory

I think I have been hypnotised into wanting a cigarette every time I hear, see or read about one. I'll be reading a novel about sex, drinking, drugs and many other vices and not turn a hair. Then a character steps out on the balcony for a cigarette and I think "mmmm, a cigarette would be good right about now."

How weird is that? I must have been hypnotised. I don't even like cigarettes unless I am already drinking or smoking. Cigarettes 'cold', as it were, are just not nice.

Posted by phreq at August 7, 2005 12:52 PM | TrackBack