Maybe her choice of programs? I think Puss N Boots is what I used to feed those guys. You wouldn't have me lick that, would you? I didn't think so.
Those feeding traumatizations took place in the late Sixties. Thirty years ago. There was a square pan one of them ate out of. (Of out ate?) It was enameled metal; white inside with cobalt rim. I was down at my Dad's about a month ago, and he'd gotten a new cat. There was the pan, in his back porch. It was amazing to see it. I was transfixed.
A simple object. It rules a major portion of my psyche, unaccessed but still reserved. I spent ten seconds ~ maybe more ~ looking; unaware of much else. I could feel it in my hand, precisely. Mary Jane saw me, and recognizes that state (by now). I could see her smiling out of my peripheral. Even my sister came out and knew what was going on. She's smiling. I said, "That's Lear's bowl." "Yes....."
I also had to fold all the paper grocery bags. The brown ones. I didn't mind doing dishes, mowing grass, painting; but those two things bugged me. I really hate folding sacks. I notice it these days, too. It creates a pain in my hands, whose cause I can't decide.
Weird, huh? [You should make up some infamous case here.]
[Then again, what's weird to JFred by now.....]
PS: Yah! I just followed your post back to that one, and that bowl was the very rim I would whack the spoon on. I had forgotten that.
My shrink is in Salem. His name is.............. |
