Posted Mon, 08/21/06
I've been so terrible about blogging recently, but in truth I haven't had much to say. There are times when I go through "dry" spells when I'm rather quiet, in person and on paper. Writers understand the days where all words seem to flow effortlessly, but they are sometimes followed by other days when coherent sentences are next to impossible. It's a sense of intuition that is very hard to explain rationally.
Some good news: Mum is coming for another visit during the first week of September. I can't wait, and I'm like an excited child waiting for an anticipated event to occur. My only complaint is that the visits seem to fly by just as they get started. I'm naturally revving up Foofer and Rainee ahead of time, telling them "Gamma is coming" as they race to the window to look for her car.
This reminds me of my so-called sadistic nature, which is often commented upon by friends and close family members. These traits seem to come to the fore in true diabolic fashion almost every day. Frequent examples include:
Wilbert hates the lights on when he is trying to sleep. On occasion I will go into the bedroom just as he is dropping off and switch the overhead light on and off, over and over again, until he begs for mercy. His anxiety gives me a great chuckle, which he describes as "pure evil."
Because I clean the bathroom, I figure it's little to ask that Wilbert refill the toilet paper holder. When he lags behind in his duties, I will deliberately leave the toilet paper holder empty just as he is about to use the loo. This result is his screaming at the top of his lungs for a new 12-roll package of TP. Even then, I will only toss him one roll and not the entire package.
Even the dogs are not safe from my machinations. Rainee hates her paws touched while she is sleeping, so I will use the tip of my finger to gently brush against her "toes" multiple times, causing her to jerk her forelegs back and forth. She will finally raise her head and glare at me hatefully, or snap at me with her dainty mouth.
Foofer is touchy about his food. As he eats dinner every night, he will look over his shoulder at me. This is my queue to raise my hand as if I'm going to grab his bowl, which in turns leads him to growl and wag his tail. It is a nine-year ritual between the two of us.
There's more, but I'll quit while I'm ahead.