Mommy Doesn't Knit Here Anymore.
Mommy can’t come to the blog right now. She’s busy. She says that she’s studying, but when I peeked into her little rat hole down the basement, she was cleaning her toenails with a Barbie shoe, then sniffing it. Just like the woodchoppers at daycare.

I miss my mommy so much that last week I mailed myself to her, in a big box.



But instead of being happy to see me, she told me that I was acting all borderline and stuff, and that I am four years old (which I already knew) and should recognize that I am a whole entity, totally separate from her. Individuated. Even. And way past on my way to object constancy.

But then she remembered that I am just a little girl, and still in Kohlberg’s pre-conventional stage of moral development.

Then she said she was sorry.

Then she pulled the Barbie shoe from her bra, took two sniffs, and put it back.

Because mommy is too out of her fucking mind busy right now to write a post, she said I can show you a picture I drew:



::The following story is truly the creation of the Cakers, as told to her parents in describing the drawing. The previous portion of this blog post was not really written by the Cakers, but a grownup. Seriously.::

This is a picture of Cheddar. His one paw is longer because he's tapping his foot to Johnny Cash. Then he went upstairs to go to bed, but Daddy let a tooter and it smelled REAL bad, so he came down to sleep in my room. The End.

The Countdown.
Two days to go. I'm doing okay. A little wiggy here and there, but mostly feeling it's in there. Over the next two days, I will devote my study time to memorizing developmental stages, medications (family and generic name, side effects and specific uses),the finer nuances of schizophrenia and the complex, psychological makeup of professional nipple waxers.

What I won't be doing, anymore (promise!), is reading the soshul werk message board where all the people who have failed the test 3 or 4 times, congregate to complain about how hard the test is and ain't life a bowl of suck? ::I don't know why I kept going back there, but it kinda felt like I was checking for a headstone, with my name on it.::

Enough fun and games. I need to get back to my hole, as follows:



Notice the coffee cups (tea, actually.) and water bottles? No booze for me. For days. And days. and days.... Nothing stronger than the occasional whiff of grease board marker and toe jam. And stale dog pee. ::Stinky Rat Hole is built upon former Labradorian Sacred Pee Grounds. Thus, scented candles.::

Seriously. What are you still doing here? I gotta go!

If you want to truly understand something, try to change it.-Kurtis Lewin

Labels: My Daughter Scares Me, That Damn Test

# posted by Marcia @ 4:36 PM