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Fifty-Second Sitting

We left Her apartment out the back, already late to the aforementioned musical events. The ground was covered with a beautiful coat of snow, and it didn't symbolize anything. We were skipping about merrily in this fluff when She noticed that Brandy and Lucy Lou weren't in the pen. We headed towards the road and <<flash>>, there went Brandy, decked out with a full-body harness with an eleven-or-so-year-old kid chasing after her, already a good distance behind, yelling "Stop! Stop!" Having a good deal of experience in stopping running DOGS, I leapt, and she was mine. The kid mumbled, "We were having them pull us on sleds and she got away."

"They are strong, aren't they," She said, as We transferred possession back to the kid. At this point Lucy came racing in Our direction followed by another kid of the opposite sex, and a repeat performance took place. The kids disappeared, pulling their oblivious slaves, with as little communication with Us as possible. We were confident that the DOGS would escape again within minutes.

Ah, kids today... Don't know how to control their pets. Now when I was a kid, well, my DOG Maia was basically a little mop who ate her own dung, but dammit I could point it out to family friends when she did so, and later chase them around with her as she tried to lick them all over, and dammit that's utility from a pet. Ah, but love was a different story. Irrelevant, even. From an early age I was a hopeless romantic, periodically playing the secret or not-so-secret admirer to some unsuspecting damsel. Yes, this need started early, which sort of undermines what I said about things having always been swell even before Shes entered my world... Come to think of it, that crap about food over affection is sort of undermined by that experiment whose name I can't remember but which you should look up at your earliest convenience in the aforementioned psychology book by Charles G. Morris (`cause nobody tell it like Charlie do) wherein baby monkeys chose a warm and soft fake-mama-model over a hard and cold one, even though the latter also included a functional fake nipple! (i.e. it dispensed food) But whatever; I ain't no baby monkey. Nor am I a DOG. I'm beginning to get a sense of what I am (and so what is appropriate for me to do), but I don't think I can tell you that yet, as it has not yet fully reached consciousness, despite umpteen thousand references toward it starting around sitting nine. I can tell you about my dream, though.

No, not those dreams. Last night. I dreamt that She and He and I were all in Alaska a month or two from now. We were all sitting at a table together, but She got up to do something, leaving Us alone. He turned to Me and said: "You realize that if She stays with Me, I'll have to ask you to get lost. I have some serious plans for Us."

I responded, "Yeah, I can see how this situation might cause you to react by getting drastic. I think I've pretty much done the same thing. I mean, yes, I do love Her, but would I have been driven to say it, to realize it, to think about the possibility of spending My life with Her, if it weren't for the fact that I have to prove Myself worth losing You for? You were probably taking Her for granted; now You're not. You needed the stress to really know where You stood, what you are."

And then We talked, like civilized Human beings, about matters emotional and theoretical. She returned and... well, then it gets fuzzy, but... I think I turned into a lion and ate Him... possibly.

Now any junior high gym class member knows that kids are generally mean little bastards. The strong pick on the weak, and the weak pick on the even weaker. I tried introducing white dog to the other DOGS, trying to get them to look at each other, bringing them over to his little airlock thing, but to no avail. They were generally oblivious, and sometimes even growled. Even Sugar Dee, when I picked her up and held her near white dog's face, let out a long low (for her) snarl. At that moment Teddy Bear committed the act for which I will always remember and characterize him: he threw up and ate it. I couldn't help but see this as a sympathetic response to Sugar's reaction. I mean, I would have seen it were I not running away in fear. Now, do I forgive the kids and dogs and God and myself for acting in this impolite manner? Do you? Is it even important? What the hell is forgiveness anyway? I've been through this before, so I won't again, but consider: I said that it comes down to whether you see fit to rage against something you can't do anything about, or just relax. Obviously then, the sane fellow relaxes, unless of course raging has some purpose, e.g. in making the wrongdoer reform, or at least apologize and promise to never never do it again because he loves you yeah yeah yeah. I doubt that the human or DOG or kid race is going to do squat on my account, and I doubt God will either (enigmatic <<wink>>). But the "forgiveness" that results from this attitude has almost nothing to do with the victim of my judgment... I haven't make peace with it so much as not bothering to show up to the war.

But the fact is that we tend to judge everything anyway, to develop an affective attitude towards it, despite all efforts not to, and it may be possible for me to just ignore these orientations within myself, placing no importance upon them and basing none of my actions on them, maybe there's some other way to vent this tendency. And I don't mean by loving everyone, which is a farce, or even just chillin' and giving everything a mild thumbs-up, as that contradicts what I said about perfection. The obvious solution, then -- the only solution -- is to focus all of this evaluative energy on the most important thing, the only thing that matters anyway... the condition and straightness of your TEETH! There! I said it! In BIG letters! I've... never... done anything... to... hurt them! Why... sob sob... should they... sob... torment Me so! They are so central, so much a part of me, yet a just a little bit dead, and wanton! Yes! In junior high I got braces (one of the most grueling ordeals of my life), and, well, I'm the first generation of patients for whom orthodontists have decided that orthodontics must be a life-time ordeal, so yes, even now I possess both a thin, curved wire on the inside of my mouth, connecting my lower canines, and a very thin wire on the top connecting the two front incisors. All I want for Christmas is my front teeth free! And so I walk the earth fettered by that which no one can see (without looking directly into my mouth, which people tend to be shy about doing). This latter wire was acquired only recently after the ancient traditional practice of gradually ceasing to use my retainer, a clear plasticky thing covering most of the top teeth which many people in high school mistook for a layer of slime, was overturned, because I was gaining a sizable gap between the two front teeth... and so the horror began, with the construction of one of those "normal" retainers (they are all equally affronts to nature), which I had to (correction: was told to) wear all the time for months, then the construction of another plasticky thing, and then this little perma-wire, which I guess might come out around retirement, but maybe not. And even now I'm supposed to wear the plasticky thing (specially altered to fit around the perma-wire) once a week or so...

No! I can't talk about it any more! You're getting too aroused anyway. Go relax, and I will feast. Same old, same old.

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© 1993 Mark A. Linsenmayer [ Contents ]