ThomasinaPaine "... sermons in stones, and good in everything."

From: Sadly, Yes, I Live In A City. , United States Add Friend Send Message My Playlists My Presents My Friends My Comments Block User My Favorites Stuff I Watched My Pictures Report User My Reviews
Gender: Female
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About Me:

forgeddabout housework... Seriously. Forget it.

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A well used pencil, worn to a nub,
Pointless...
Wow. There's a self-image to mull over. Ok I was depressed and autumn loomed :)
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LIFE FEELS held together with frayed duct tape right now. I see why they call it
'Fall"...
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"Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain." (Kahlil Gibran)

Turns out there IS justification for wallowing in self-pity after all.

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Hobbies:

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US.


LIFE IS INFINITE NEGOTIATION UNTIL YOU LET GO.


??????????????????????????????????????????????????

WHO LOVES YA, BABY ?
THAT IS THE QUESTION.

yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy


A FEW TIMES I FELT TRULY LOVED. I'm almost sure of it.
All I can remember as real now was love shining in my mother's eyes.
But that was long ago.
I discovered romance, and I loved back with all my heart,
Later,
with what was left of it.
It was not enough,
but it was all I had.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

My first memory of being 'aware' was as a spirit, apparently not yet 100% committed to this life. 'I' was not in physical form and was sort of hovering behind the shoulder of my already born physical self of about 2 years. I watched 'me' standing up in her crib, eyes on the 3-year-old brother staring up at her calmly as he nurses the bottle of milk she had discarded and which he had promptly swiped.
'She' and I look on, curious, not judging, her little hands grasping the crib's bars, confounded by love immediately, intensely.
And so I chose to 'be'… for love.


OOOOOOO

I am currently in an ongoing patience-tweaking, interactive relationship with my precious and newly adopted Westie, continuously trying to convey to him that just because he isn't sleeping in a cage anymore does not require him --nor give him carte blanche --to sprinkle the entire house to mark his expanded territory. No competition here. How he got to the age of 8 without actual housebreaking is a mystery. Well, he had actually trained his former owner using a bell hung on the door handle when he needed to go, but this house and environs are not laid out the same way, so that doesn't work here. Also, what time she was not there he was kenneled. Even though dogs do ''den'' and a kennel is like a den, my schedule is erratic and him forced to 'hold it' till I got home seemed cruel to me. So, I ditched the kenneling and opted for training.
Westies are brainy, so I kept sending the message, "Alone does not mean 'go ahead and pee anywhere you like. You must wait til I get back." He got it. But results were mixed.

The very few "accidents" that occur now seem directly related to not having his way.... as in
disdain for me dragging my feet in attending to his needs (food, treats, walks.)
or being left behind when he was CLEARLY indicating he was up for an outing, too, as I closed the door.

Be that as it may, he's a sweetie~~ nothing is more fun than tossing him up on my high-rise four poster and watching him wriggle into the down comforter with a puff and a sigh of such EXQUISITE contentment... he knows he is loved.

One night recently he took me to task. I had been neglecting him ("That damned internet!" he woofed).

His semi-picky eating habits worsened. I had made the mistake of feeding him human food and had inadvertently added a new dimension to myself as a source, much like a drug dealer.
He realized I was trainable.
The game was afoot... or apaw, if you will pardon the pun.

(months later)

Harmony is achieved. I am trained.

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Today is not a day for walking. Duffy is eyeballing me hopefully, as if he thinks it is in my power to stop the rain and take him for a romp. I again explain, "No Duffy, not today...sorry sweetie. It is pouring outside. Wait. Maybe tomorrow it will be better." He continues to give me that penetrating Westie stare {{•}}{{•}} he has perfected, as if drilling through my skull to brute-force communicate his wishes, brain to brain. Alas, The Look did not get the desired result this time. Stomping all 27 pounds across the room (it is truly a wonder his little pawprints are not leaving scorched earth behind him), he positions himself in front of the door and FLINGS himself down on the carpet, much like a disgruntled teenager not getting his way.
I spit my coffee out laughing at him.


OOOOOOO

With decades behind me, I now realize I was never in control of my life...not once....lol

OOOOOOO



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