You are looking at posts that were written in the month of November in the year 2009.
Posted on November 6th, 2009 by Scraps.
Categories: Badness, Stuff.
I got yelled at by a turning trucker, for walking with the light but too slow. So I stopped in front of him, yelled at him, brandished my cane, told him I was disabled, etc. And he yelled even more. Eventually I moved on.
Boy, I blew up. I was walking fine, in a okay mood, then out of the blue this irritant came up, and I felt myself get instantly very mad; and I felt myself shake, even before I turned and yelled.
I think I have issues.
Posted on November 1st, 2009 by Scraps.
Categories: Words, Comedy, Recovery.
(The last three weeks have been a steep curve of learning; I want to write down some of it.) This homework assignment is to describe a children's drawing, a simple drawing of a birthday party. And my therapist, Alexandra, told me to make a little story also (because she seems to have got the idea that I am promising).
"It's a birthday party. The boy with the big grin in the center is probably the celebrator.* The boys to either side have (presumably) presents for him. The cake in front of the celebrator has nine candles, which either means he's nine years old, or his parents screwed up. There are plates in front of his friends, but none in front of the birthday boy. Maybe he's supposed to give a slice to each of them, and than eat the rest of it by himself.
"But it doesn't matter; the missing plate is far from the birthday boy's thoughts. (Let's call him Ralph.) He is grinning -- do you notice that the other two are not? -- not in laughter; he is grinning because the plan he has cultivated, the plan he has spent the last year, well, planning, is coming to fruition. For his right hand is reaching, grasping for the big knife; and he is going to kill the two, or at least maim them.
"And yet. The right one of the boys -- let's call him Ralph, too -- is concentrating on Ralph the Killer's (or Maimer's) face. And do you know? his hands, both of them, are under the table. Maybe he is reaching for a knife too; it could be, because we can't see under the table. Maybe he's reaching for a gun! Maybe he's reaching for a knife and a gun! One thing that is for sure: we can't know until we move a minute past . . . the birthday party."
*(Originally I used the word "celebrant", but I looked it up, and the definition was "the priest officiating at the Eucharist," so no.)