| [LJ2ME] |
[09 Jul 2009|07:06am] |
Ok, no walk this morning. The beginnings of my sleepy-time were too filled with me flinging back the covers and stumbling to turn on a light to be very restful. Why was I doing that almost continuously. Well, so I could pick up the sixty-some-odd cds thay had just been flung from the top of my dresser, of course. Or to pick up the plant that's been dropped from the top of the TV for the third time. Or to take the leash off the back of the door because when the cats wrestle they like to get a running start and slam into things...the leash just makes that much more noise with the pseudo-chain still attached.
One of these nights, I'm convinced I'm going to lose an eye. Neither of them pay much attention as they claw for their life to get back on top of the bed. My fingers, elbows, shins, feet, etc have been the victim of their own self-preservation too many times to count as they take turns playing the Indian in the middle of the night. They also like to ricochet off of things. Primarily me. They got cool names like Hawk and Newt (short for Tomahawk and Oliver Newton), but I keep thinking they should be Ping 1 and Ping 2. I could make them little red bodysuits and affix two little blue wigs to the tops of their heads. Or not. In any case. On more than a handful of occasions the spot from which they activate their inner springboard is my eye. It's closed, of course, but for a period of time too small to measure, I can feel the impression left by four little claws from a back foot followed by the explosion of light as the pressure from the launch changes the shape of my eye.
Ifi had to guess, I'd wager that I'll get a claw stuck through my eyelid before I have an eyeball explode from a Tigger Bounce.
But I love when Hawk comes to visit. The danger involved in feline ownership is worth it for the noises the brothers make as they play.
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| [LJ2ME] |
[08 Jul 2009|11:56pm] |
Perhaps I'll just try using my last few minutes before sleep to get my writing in? Maybe? I just get too distracted if I'm actually attached to a computer.
I had a few other things I was going to get out of my system, but I think I'll go on about fear instead. A fear that isn't really fear, even.
It's getting harder and harder to leave my apartment lately, it seems. Ok...not so much harder to leave as it is easy to stay in. I always say "Honey, we're going to go for a walk today," and it ends up being a lot shorter than I'd intended. At some point I just have the strong desire to go home. I'm not anxious. I'm not having a reaction to anything in particular. I just want to be home.
Nevermind. This whole thing keeps getting deleted and rewritten because it sounds depressing and sad, but it's not like that at all. I pretty much just wanted to point out that as I get older and I meet more people, my circle of friends seems to get smaller and I have a desire to interact with the general public less and less. Is it because I've been burned so many times? Is it because I feel like I'm a target? Is it because I know I'll let myself be taken advantage of? Is it because, increasingly, I'm shown that it's more and more "every man for himself" and I'm liable to be the first one sacrificed at any hint of trouble?
Yup. You're darn tootin'. It's a sick, selfish world out there and in my apartment I can limit how much of that I'm exposed to. At work, it feels like a constant power struggle with every interaction and it's exhausting. Especially for those of us who refuse to play selfishly.
Speaking of being exhausted...bedtime. And tomorrow I WILL take the dog for a walk.
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| [LJ2ME] |
[08 Jul 2009|12:42am] |
It was names the other day. Before that, masks. These are strange revelations and exploratories of myself that are coming to the surface from other people.
I've always had masks as imagery for various emotional states throughout my years. For as long as I can remember. Nothing too terribly decorated. More representative and ceremonial. I'm not a hider, but I do play roles all day long. I switch masks several times in a given day. And they are all masks of me...just different pieces of me (you've never seen). I was handed a veiled permission to start making them...and so I shall. I have several sketches in my head. The real test of bravery comes in putting them on paper. After that, the acquisition of materials and the actual construction are cake. So...expect masks. And discussions of masks and emotional states and thoughts and feelings and circumstances. And even as I write this, ideas are causing the door to splinter for their want to break through.
Then the names. Mostly the realization that I don't identify with any of the ones I have. "Matt" or "Matty" is commonly used to refer to me with the occasional "Matthew" thrown in...but I don't feel like a Matt or a Matthew. And only occasionally do I feel like a Matty. My middle name is Thomas. It's usually shortened to a simple T in my signature. And even that T haunts me. My dad's first name is Tomi, so Thomas is a variation on that, but it's so rarely used...it just doesn't feel like mine. And then the you're-in-trouble-now combination of my first two names...that's not really me either. Except, that is, in the annual "Matthew Thomas Clock Clock Clock" that I used to get from my maternal grandparents after there was an incident involving an alarm clock preference when I was 2 or 3 years of age. And the last name? I've only heard it or seen it a handful of times, so I've no idea anything about this Clegg clan. I've no heritage, except for the little bit I can find on the interwebs. And it's just such a harsh word, isn't it? Clegg. No one can spell it, even when you spell it for them. Many pizzas came to the Coegg household. "Kleeg" is a common mispronunciation. "Klayg" is how most people end up saying it. It's just "egg" with a "cl" at the beginning. I wonder how tired Megan Mullally-like-Sally gets of saying that and how often she uses another name when making hair appointments, ordering pizza or leaving her name at the hostess stand at a restaurant.
I've no idea who I am, then. I mean...I have a pretty good idea of who I am. I just suddenly, and rather surprisingly, don't identify with my name.
Perhaps that's just another mask to make.
I feel like facebook has destroyed my desire to write. Well, other things did too, but...yeah. And now my hand is cramping from the supertiny keyboard that I pecked this out on.
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| [LJ2ME] |
[04 Jul 2009|08:59am] |
It's not a sadness. Just a funk, partially due to the litter box needing scooped (I have catpany visiting so a twice-a-day scooping isn't enough).
I'm perfectly fine being alone. It's even much preferred most times. But there are those long moments that have the potential to last for days where I have to admit that I'd like for someone to be there when one of my parents dies. That the luxury of sleeping in is that much better when it's shared. That it would be nice if all my picture frames weren't only showcasing children and animals. That I'll learn how to play my guitar is when someone else pulls it out and asks about it. That more of the stories in my head would make it to paper if I had someone to voice them to first.
It's not necessary. It'd just be nice. And I've come out of the cave enough here to attempt a few interactions, which for the most part, have left me with no desire to take root. I'm no dandelion, I tell you. I've never been earthbound.
Who knows. What I want might actually be here, but I've still too many gaping wounds to be comfortable wandering around looking for it. I'll still just keep licking.
The dilemma will eventually present itself regarding the alignment of opportunity elsewhere and the desire to look again. I don't want to be one of those people with the urgent biological clock feeling, yet still sitting exactly where I am right now. That feeling won't be exorcised from here. It hasn't thus far.
I just worry that my time is running out. That the "future" gets shorter and shorter. And in the meantime I've got a bunch of party animals (literally) that won't go to sleep til 4am. They sleep all day and most of the evening, so as soon as it's lights-out...
It was literally every time I'd just fall asleep that something else heavy would hit the floor. I always hate to think what the person below me thinks. I'd grimace a few four-lettered phrases and point to the bed until everyone scattered or complied. When I laid back down all I could see and feel were those vibrations - the ones your body produces to move you into deeper sleep. It was almost so violent that it kept me awake. There I was, having my own personal tremors, and they were all just waiting in the shadows...planning their next strike(s).
Today should be interesting. Happy Independence, indeed.
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[04 Jul 2009|01:14am] |
There's a bit of a funk in the air tonight. I took an emotional inventory and found some empty shelves.
I want endearing moments. I want simple words. I want ease and comfort. I want the impossible. I want to sleep and feel like everything's ok, even though I know it's not. I miss that protectedness found in certain relationships. Not the kind where there's a constant struggle in roles.
Let's spend the rest of our lives pretending we don't speak each others' language and never say another word. We still have our eyes and our hands. At some moment you'll grab my hand and we'll have to do something together. Something as simple as opening a door. Perhaps I wouldn't quite understand that the knob falls off unless you turn it this particular way...you'd have to show me.
And with both of our fingers holding onto that cold, tarnished metal we'll both know without a word that it's the simplest of truths that set us free.
But in the meantime. A few things that make me smile.
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[04 Jul 2009|12:35am] |
This. Is ridiculous.
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| [LJ2ME] |
[28 Jun 2009|12:02am] |
He knelt beside his brother, searching through the darkness for his eyes. "Let me have it. I'll take it tonight."
"It's ok," the other said, putting both hands beneath his blanket. "I can keep it."
"Look, I'll sleep with it tonight and then sometime later you can sleep with mine. Would that be better?"
The younger of the two stared through the blanet with his eyes closed for a few quiet moments before pulling out what would have looked like a smooth, dark rock. The surface was never quite any color. It almost seemed as if it were catching imagined lights from snow that had never fallen.
The elder brother reached out, still searching, closing his hand around another one that fit so easily inside his own and he took the rock. For something so small, it was quite heavy. And cold. He begged the darkness again for those eyes so he could apologize without words for what this child had been carrying. He felt that he was being looked at, looked through, and looked past...but he could never find those eyes.
His other hand slid up the kid's arm and gave the back of his neck a protective squeeze as the rock was dropped into a pocket, seemingly even heavier. Already the child was melting into sleep, his burden lifted for just one night. He laid down and immediately his breathing became heavier and deeper.
The brother crawled quietly out of the small tent and crept across a small clearing to an adjascent tent. Not immediately, but before long, there he wept for all the nightmares his sibling had been holding. For the nightmares that he, Imp, was now holding in both hands, shivering and shaking in the hot and sticky night air. The nightmares that, both heavy and cold, wouldn't allow him to sleep this night.
Tomorrow they would travel swiftly and hide again under the cover of stars - that many steps further from home, that many steps closer to an answer.
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[22 Jun 2009|08:36pm] |
Don't watch the video if you can help it. It's not even really all that gruesome. Compared to the blood and guts of Hollywood, it's time. But she looks at the camera. She looks right at the camera and you can still see her eyes as the blood starts pouring so easily from her nose and mouth. There were only a few seconds left, but I went ahead and turned it off. The bullet exploded in her chest from the impact. She died in less than 2 minutes.
And Perez Hilton's tweeting about being hit by Will.i.am.
It's strange how life goes on around these sorts of events. The rest of the world is watching the Middle East (as usual) with a scone in one hand and a Starbucks coffee in the other.
I think Jolly should start writing again. On a massive scale this time. His vitriol has always been good, but now there's a maturity to it. Matter-of-factness has replaced the gritted teeth of old. He says things almost daily now that snap the rest of a story into place in my head. Worse things have happened to people. More violent acts have been shows and seen the world over. She's one person of millions who died this weekend, and I shouldn't be as affected by her as I am. Neda's not even her real name. "Neda" means "voice" in Farsi. Stories erupted gobally regarding the events, many of them greatly exaggerated or flat-out invented. But does any of that matter?
Her eyes. She looks at the camera. And then the blood. No matter the circumstances or the specific story, it's an image we should all be able to look at and realize "this is my fate".
Wales is always on my mind. If I had to pick a place to travel back to and get in touch with roots, it would be Wales. Plus it's just pretty. It's a place steeped in Celtic tradition and is the "land of song". I've had a fantasy (yes, Phil...I'm aware it's just a fantasy...boob) of a house on a cliff for quite some time. Those waves crashing dangerously at the bottom of a steep drop. I figured this would be a place that I would retire. I'd be sitting at the kitched table one day in a sweater and slippers, cup in hand. My stomach would be full from breakfast, my eyes drinking in headlines and happenings from around the globe, and I would have had enough. A switch would flip and I would know that it was just time. A particular headline or story would grab my attention for just the right amount of time and I'd see that in thousands and thousands of years, we're right where we were at the beginning. For all the technology and luxuries of the modern life...we're just the same as before. The dogs would be set loose, the front door left open, and I would hit Send on an email that I'd been penning for years before walking to the edge of that cliff and stare into a tomorrow that I wouldn't live to see.
Were I there today, this woman may have been what did it for me.
Power is arbitrary and meaningless, yet it seems to be all that anyone cares about. I've never understood the obsession with power or having dominion over others. It's probably the biggest qualm I have with religions. If I were the creator of all that exists (and doesn't exist) I wouldn't need any sort of affirmation of that power. I wouldn't create beings just to worship me. I wouldn't grant cosmically meaningless "miracles" for those who are subservient. I wouldn't put one group of those creations above another. I wouldn't create something to be "lesser" or "weaker" than the others. But we don't get that. It's why we kill each other. It's why we struggle and fight and scramble and claw and crawl. From beginning to end and until the end of time.
I'm doubtful that anything short of apocalyptic events from beyond the atmosphere will unite a large chunk of the population on this particular globe...so it's getting easier to understand why that cross was so willingly accepted.
Only this time, I won't be back.
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[22 Jun 2009|12:18pm] |
Neda.
Just...Neda.
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[19 Jun 2009|01:24pm] |
Things are much better this morning. It's one of those things I struggle with. Seemingly, the older I get, the more I'd prefer the company of animals and the people who prefer animals. A long conversation (not really, but by textual standards) with Jolley put words to the jumble of emotions I had tumbling around in my head, heart and tummy. Articulate, that one is. He's had years of practice, though. The thoughts I get at random are nothing new to him. He's had words and names for things for years, despite his lack of earthly age. Then a nap with said furry things. I woke up slowly, meaning I didn't fully wake up until this morning. I hopped on the computer for a while, but my mind was still in a haze and thankfully I wasn't asked to focus on anything in particular for too very long.
It's not that I hate people, even though I say it. Ok, I do, but not the way you'd think. I hate what we do and that we can't get past the many levels of learned selfishness to realize that things CAN be better. They really can. And not just in a Utopian sense. It's the twenty-first century, for crying out loud...but we've been around for a lot more than twenty-one of them. Maybe one day we'll get it right.
Does anyone else see this? How we snap and cower around things we arbitrarily own as if we're wild dogs who've had food stolen from them in the past? It's just a ridiculous way to exist.
Anyway. I'm not dwelling on that. Not until I get to work in a couple of hours and have more of those teeth and claws thrown my way, at least.
I haven't been able to write much. I spend too much time watch, seems like. I used to write while I was listening. It's much easier. It's hard to write when you're watching. Perhaps I'll make an effort to slow down on the Netflix obsession I've had. Actually...I'll do that right now.
And I've officially lost my train of thoughts.
I need to start at the beginning of this journal and start compiling entries to go into a book at some point. With revisions and expansions, of course.
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| [LJ2ME] Random thoughts while crusty pizza digests. |
[18 Jun 2009|12:59pm] |
People are monsters. All of them. No matter their appearances or daily lives - monsters. Beneath their skin, demonic wars are waged. Not the kind of devils and gods, but the constant tearing at each other between spirit and nature. But it goes beyond animalistic urges and primal behavior.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Perhaps the battles are merely the result of the ashes and dust longing to return to their former selves that much faster, just like our lives are getting faster, faster, faster. The betrayals, the phobias, the selfish degredation, the money, the power, the separation...and all in the names of things that wouldn't behave in such ways themselves.
If only people paid more attention to the stories. The lessons. The morals. THOSE morals instead of trying to extrapolate their own.
Maybe I'm just tired of the constant in-flow of comments and insults being hurled at the Middle East right now from bigoted xenophobes. Especially when said during a simple transaction for a newspaper or during a phone call where you're trying to find out if we accept recycled phones and donate them to battered women.
Lunch is over.
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[04 Jun 2009|11:33pm] |
If I were a braver and more dedicated person (and didn't think I'd need it to communicate with my Deaf peeps), I'd cut off my ring finger.
I may still.
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[30 May 2009|01:00pm] |
Flub fixed, so now the robots makes sense, at least.
Two entries back...bottom of the post. Robyn and Röyksopp. Nummy-nums.
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[30 May 2009|12:01pm] |
I've seen maybe three collective episodes of American Idol since it's inception those many, many years ago.
This is probably one of the most amazing things to come out of it.
How great is Cyndi?
Speaking of Cindys...I sent an email to someone who had done a demo tape in Nashville way back when about a song that's been stuck in my head. She's going to see if she can't get a copy of it for me. Squee much?
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[29 May 2009|12:53pm] |
I can't seem to stop watching all this stupid Prop 8 stuff.
Regarding this one...I think it's ridiculous to say that just because someone has a mother and a father that they're not going to do drugs or get pregnant as a teenager or go to jail. I also think about how many people I know that have both parents and both parents are still together that are miserable.
And how much do you love Sulu. Watch Nichelle have to wipe her eyes during the ceremony.
I don't even know why I care that much. It's a wedding. I hate weddings. Secretly, I do. I've been to tons of weddings and only a small handful of them are worth the stress and the pressure that builds in the planning and execution. I'm not sitting here with a partner. I'm not itching to get hitched and announce before God and country that we're make that commitment to each other. And even if I was partnered, I don't know that I'd be willing to get married at any point. Not for a very very very long time.
This stuff will change. It will. It will because everything does. It's not a hopeless situation. Disappointing, but not hopeless. Eventually it'll happen. Keep the faith children.
Perhaps that's what it is. The children. I've grown up, no only with a huge portion of my attention being paid to the Middle East and our successive occupations of it, but thinking that I could never tell anyone that I was gay. Very young. We're talking kindergarted and first grade. How is someone at that age supposed to know what that even is? I knew, though. I was picked on for being the way I was. Taunted, tormented, called names. Physical abuse was ok because of what I was perceived to be. Did that schoolyard education eventually lead to me actually *being* gay? I surely don't think so. But in either case...it's not my fault. It's just what is. And I was terrified that people would find out.
No amount of prayer or self-hatred could change it. None ever did. I defended myself with a smile on my face and let the fear and rage out when no one else was around. I tried. I did. I tried fitting in. I tried having relationships with the fairer sex. As much as I adore and love them in their own way, they just weren't the romantic stuff of hollywood. Try and love them as I might, it just wasn't the same.
I honestly think that it happened perfectly. Matt and I used to love to tell people "our story". It was sweet. It was. For anything that happened afterwards, it was worth it all just to have the confirmation that way. What could be more innocent that him asking me to play with his hair and putting a pillow and his head in my lap while we watched a movie. Finally things felt right. This was what I had been fighting against for my entire life. This is what I was scared of. This is what I took beating after beating for (more verbal than physical, mind you). And it was perfect. The rest of the world didn't matter anymore because this was what truth felt like, and the truth didn't feel wrong.
I never came home a bloody mess as a result of being gay. I don't think any of the bad stuff that's happened to me has been a direct result of being gay. And even the people who hurt me the most with their words and action...at least once since, they've counted me among their friends. As much as people might not understand or even hate what I am...at some point they realize that they don't hate me. I used to believe that *that* was all I could ask for. That *that* was more than a blessing and that I was lucky.
I know that I can't be anything but who I am, and I'm fine with that. Finally. But how many people weren't fortunate enough to come out with that conclusion? How many people had it infinitely worse than I did? How many people have been killed in the Middle East in the last 90 days just for the perception that they were gay? Killed. For being gay. How many more people are beaten up, their photographs splattered all over the internet like their dignity and teeth were splattered on the curbs. With all of those awful things still going on, why is marriage so important?
Because as long as we can legislate the supposed abnormality, no one is safe. The attitudes continue. The perceptions don't change. And those children will hurt.
I'm way too sensitive about these things. They don't even affect me, but what are we (as a nation) saying to other people? To our own citizens? To the rest of the world? Here we are...the land of the free and the home of the brave. I can't think of anything more free or more brave than taking this huge step to say it's unconstitutional to segregate and separate.
On a technical note...the unconstitutionality lies in allowing those 18-some-odd-thousand marriages to remain while banning all future marriages. Now there's a rift in the community as to why some marriages are legal and some aren't.
But things aren't all tears through smiles. A bit ago I heard tumbling, growling and squawking behind me from where Honey had Newt's head under her chest and the cat was struggling furiously with his back feet to remove the skin from the dog's neck. He freed himself and they both took a moment to catch their breaths before she opened her mouth and made that taunting noise as the cat took to the air and attached himself to her entire face. Then she shook hard enough for him to go flying into the side of the matress. Now I look over and they're both asleep, six inches from each other. Their chests rising and falling at the same time for just a couple of breaths. They'll never have to know these things and for that, they are unknowingly better off.
I can live with the dog hair and the litter box if it means I get this reminder on occasion.
Maybe I'll just fall in love with Robots instead...
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[26 May 2009|09:34pm] |
It's simple. It really is.
It's a government of the people, by the people and for the people.
It doesn't say for the majority. It doesn't say for the moral contingency.
It says "the people". All of them.
We've determined that a citizen is considered a legal adult at the age of 18. At that point, what happens between two consenting adults is their own business. If you're going to offer governmental benefits and tax credits to two people who choose to join in marriage, you have to offer it to ALL such duos who wish to join in marriage. If you add conditions, it becomes discrimination. You have to remove all demographics, aside from the age limitation because children are not trusted to care for themselves until they reach a certain age (currently 18 in most areas of the United States). You cannot say "except when it involves two men" or "..two women" or "people of two different races" or "when either or both of the parties are disabled" or "when there's more than 5 years' difference in age between the two parties". You can't. You just can't. It then fails to protect the people. It separates the people. It raises a portion of the population to a higher status.
That's not what this government was designed for. And the umbrella "Christian Nation" arguments don't apply. They can't. Because you can't debate higher authority. It's one of the fallacies of argument.
Marriage should be what happens when two citizens agree to commit to caring for each other for the rest of their lives. End of story.
You wanna know the truth? I don't care if seven people want to get married to each other. Polygamy isn't something I see so much harm in if they're all willing. It's not my life, so what do I have to say about it? My neighbors do TONS of things I don't agree with every moment of every day, but I don't go around legislating them into oblivion. Marrying children wouldn't happen (even though it's happened throughout America's short history and still happens all over the world) because they're not legally allowed to make such a decision until they're of age. Marrying animals wouldn't happen because animals aren't citizens.
Meh. I'm tired. This discussion grows old. I don't understand how anyone can call it into question. If you don't want a gay marriage, don't get one. I'll never get married, but if I wanted to commit to someone for the rest of my life and sing Come What May at my wedding and file a joint tax return and adopt a child who doesn't have another family to call their own and have my husband visit me in the hospital and sign wills together and have our ashes scattered in the same body of water...the government doesn't have anything to say about it. They can keep their piece of paper...but as long as they do, they're a sad disappointment by not being a government of me, by me and for me, but quite the opposite.
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| [LJ2ME] |
[25 May 2009|08:36am] |
There she was again this morning in what looked like a lime green sleeveless caftan, trimmed with gold ribbons, and matching capris - all of it caught by the slightest of breezes and billowing around her. Honey and I were still two dozen yards away and she hadn't noticed us yet. Neither of them had. But I knew they would, it was only a matter of time.
We do this song and dance a few times every month or so. It's usually in the morning. Sometimes in the early afternoon, but usually in the morning. And this morning was no exception. She stood, running her hand through her cropped hair, looking up and breathing in the morning air. She was enjoying herself. It's a side of her I don't usually get to see. I don't even really know when or how this began.
I remember them moving in. We saw them on the roof one night, her and her husband. They were bothered, naturally, even though the roof is open to all residents in the seventy-some-odd apartments. They just ignored us and left a short while later. Maybe a week later we were introduced to Cujo's little brother. Honey and I were waiting on the first floor for the elevator. When the door opened, flailing dog in hand, she frantically waved her free palm back and forth, shouting, "No no no no no no no!" as if I were approaching with a knife overhead. Honey and I both just stood, unblinking - we had no clue what had just happened. After we heard her get off on the second floor, I pushed the button again and pretended that didn't just occured. It wasn't much later that I recognized the noises coming from the corner apartment on the second floor. Without fail, the snorts and snarls are coming from that apartment if there's daylight. We've never spoken, other than her death-defying "no" tirade. And the eleven feet of distance between us (when her back was pressed against the elevator wall and I was about five feet from the elevator door) is the closest we've ever been. Even this morning, we were a few dozen yards away.
Honey was still trying to find more of the rained-on french fries that had been smashed into the sidewalk as they were pelted overnight. To everything else, she was oblivious. Even when the woman's little rat of a dog saw us and started its usual explosion of barks and snarls and flinging its dirty, white hair, Honey just looked for obliterated potatoes.
At the onset of the explosion, the woman was no longer enjoying herself. The usual sneer crept onto her face. Her shoulders tightened. She scanned from right to left to find the offender. Of course I'm about as far left as you can get without being out of the frame, so I have to watch this painful process from start to finish. If she'd looked at her dog, she'd have known where to check instantly. But, no. No no. When we're spotted, her eyes narrow with hateful recognition. She grabs the edge of her lime green, flowing monstrosity with her Target plastic-bagged hand and whips everything around to stomp off, dragging her little dog.
Of course it was all my fault. Everything was fine until I showed up. If only I'd just let my dog relieve herself inside, this woman's life would be absolute perfection. But no. I must be waiting outside in the corners of it all and watching. Waiting to surprise her and her oversized mop head (sans handle). Waiting to take yet another opportunity to ruin her life. Yes, that's it.
When she rounded the corner, finally, for a moment I smiled at the idea of running to the back of the building. Back and forth, we'd go. I could do it all day. But there were no french fries back there so I'd be dragging my dog as part of a statement, much like she does, and that just won't do. Instead we go inside. She resists for a bit because she can see the rest of the roast beef sandwich, still intact though sopping wet, that accompanied the french fries.
I'm telling you, people deliberately sprinkle food along the length of my street just to see what Honey will do. Just like I purposefully bring my dog outside to see what this lady will do.
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