Wolfie went to the groomer, whom he loves, and will come back smelling all fresh and feeling soft and cuddly. Only he doesn't want to cuddle. He only wants to skoot under the bed and stay in the cool shady Underside of Life.
He comes out after awhile with a very cold belly and a happier disposition, as in, "No whining". If we try to coax him out from under the bed before he is ready he will whine and whine, presumable saying, "No, leave me alone, please. Just leave me alone." He is a very polite little dog.
I just exported a clip of him getting a treat but have NO IDEA where it went! Maybe it's on Google-1 but who knows? Gadget Illiteracy strikes again!
I've been trying to draw everyday, but haven't done it very often. One of these is my usual stuff, and one is fantasy which Is a little harder. These are just quick, very small drawings that arise on the side bar of a crossword puzzle. They are done to just to make drawing habitual, as it once was:
Drawing used to be a pleasure. Now I think, "But, I have so much else to do!" so I don't draw.
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I drew the line because the rest of this isn't pleasant but I need to get it into my blog before I forget it again. As I've gotten older, my memories of early childhood have come back to me, crystal clear and in living color, but they had just been stuck way back inside the brain for a long time. I will recount them if they aren't too horrid. This is a very old one. I think the Saturday 9 we did a couple of weeks ago has startled them into returning.
Dirty Linen Dept: I wanted to tell you about a dream I had when I was three years old. I remember it because the dream was about a pack of wolves that were trying to lick me, and when I cried out in the night, my paternal unit started to try to hit me. Mother intervened and protected me with her body. Nice memory, huh?
Anyway, it seems that wolf's like to lick each other and maybe, they were trying to comfort me because of being blind sided by Psycho Dad's return. And for those who might be wondering about it all, no, it wasn't ptsd. He mistreated me when I was only a few months old baby.
What it was was that he was mad at Mother for not being willing to agree to go back with him to France where his girl friend was. Her sisters brought my mother some letters from said female, after Mother and he had left for California in a rush.
They left as quickly as possible because Psycho Dad didn't like that I wouldn't take a piece of bread from him one night at dinner. This is something else I remember! There were a lot of other things, too. That man was a real piece of work. I'm telling these things as they pop back in because I want at least a part of our story to be told after I am gone.
I lived in fear of this horrid man well after I was married because he threatened to kill us, me, DH and our little baby, all one night before he disappeared to God knows where. If you are in this situation, do what my mother said years later to a group she counseled. "Get Out, right now!" She regretted to the day she died that she hadn't done this herself.
Many people have similar stories and it's not always the dad, sometimes it's the mother. Whatever you do, know that there are people everywhere now that are willing to help. But, you have to get over your fear and tell them so that they can help get you out of Hell and save you.
He comes out after awhile with a very cold belly and a happier disposition, as in, "No whining". If we try to coax him out from under the bed before he is ready he will whine and whine, presumable saying, "No, leave me alone, please. Just leave me alone." He is a very polite little dog.
I just exported a clip of him getting a treat but have NO IDEA where it went! Maybe it's on Google-1 but who knows? Gadget Illiteracy strikes again!
I've been trying to draw everyday, but haven't done it very often. One of these is my usual stuff, and one is fantasy which Is a little harder. These are just quick, very small drawings that arise on the side bar of a crossword puzzle. They are done to just to make drawing habitual, as it once was:
Drawing used to be a pleasure. Now I think, "But, I have so much else to do!" so I don't draw.
------------------------------------------------------------
I drew the line because the rest of this isn't pleasant but I need to get it into my blog before I forget it again. As I've gotten older, my memories of early childhood have come back to me, crystal clear and in living color, but they had just been stuck way back inside the brain for a long time. I will recount them if they aren't too horrid. This is a very old one. I think the Saturday 9 we did a couple of weeks ago has startled them into returning.
Dirty Linen Dept: I wanted to tell you about a dream I had when I was three years old. I remember it because the dream was about a pack of wolves that were trying to lick me, and when I cried out in the night, my paternal unit started to try to hit me. Mother intervened and protected me with her body. Nice memory, huh?
Anyway, it seems that wolf's like to lick each other and maybe, they were trying to comfort me because of being blind sided by Psycho Dad's return. And for those who might be wondering about it all, no, it wasn't ptsd. He mistreated me when I was only a few months old baby.
What it was was that he was mad at Mother for not being willing to agree to go back with him to France where his girl friend was. Her sisters brought my mother some letters from said female, after Mother and he had left for California in a rush.
They left as quickly as possible because Psycho Dad didn't like that I wouldn't take a piece of bread from him one night at dinner. This is something else I remember! There were a lot of other things, too. That man was a real piece of work. I'm telling these things as they pop back in because I want at least a part of our story to be told after I am gone.
I lived in fear of this horrid man well after I was married because he threatened to kill us, me, DH and our little baby, all one night before he disappeared to God knows where. If you are in this situation, do what my mother said years later to a group she counseled. "Get Out, right now!" She regretted to the day she died that she hadn't done this herself.
Many people have similar stories and it's not always the dad, sometimes it's the mother. Whatever you do, know that there are people everywhere now that are willing to help. But, you have to get over your fear and tell them so that they can help get you out of Hell and save you.
I am glad that you are finally allowing yourself to deal with these horrific memories... it is the only way you will heal.
ReplyDeleteYou are right, it's the only way to heal. I've decided that I will write them down in a journal and then, when it's over, I'll burn it. I want to remember what happened to my dog Taffy. So many things I can't remember. I can remember that my cat, when I was four, came back but I can't remember what happened to my little dogs, Taffy and Cinder.
DeleteHI - I obviously haven't been reading you as often as I like. Your drawings are wonderful. I hope you can bury the memory of your father, once you get it all out.
ReplyDeleteThank you k, for reading my rants and also the nice comment on the drawings. You are a busy lady, and thank you for stopping in and reading no matter when you do.
ReplyDeleteI'm going to get rid of all that stuff someday. I think I'll do it all this winter on little slips of paper that I burn in the campfires or fireplace. :-) I'll just send it up to the sky spirits!