Sunday, January 01, 2006
Half an hour or so later (you look so peaceful when you sleep) I wake you up as we pull up to the gas pump. I hop out to fill up the tank, while you pull yourself together to go inside.
"So, you're sleepy, are you? Or are you hungry first and then sleepy?" "I could eat, and I can definately use a couple of hours of sleep."
"Let's go then, Slut. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I want to get there by mid-afternoon."
"Are you going to tell me where we are going?" "You'll figure it out when we get there."
Oh, thanks. That helps. (Can you tell I'm cranky from not enough sleep, or not enough coffee, one or the other?)
You take my leash and lesd me to the little store attached to the gas station. You enter before me (and I'm still thinking dark, ugly thoughts about being kept in the dark and not trusted with even a little bit of information) and when you stop short I bump up against your back because I'm not paying attention.
"Enough." You've turned to look at me, and I can see on your face that you know just the sorts of things I've been thinking, and you are very displeased with my attitude.
"Enough," you repeat, and tears spring into my eyes. I still don't think you know what that word does to me. It sounds so final, so awful, that every time you use it I'm crushed.
You swat me on the ass, in front of all those people who have now turned to look at the man reprimanding his child (and yes, I know. If I act like one...)
You hand me my leash and just point to the corner. "And stay there."
"So, you're sleepy, are you? Or are you hungry first and then sleepy?" "I could eat, and I can definately use a couple of hours of sleep."
"Let's go then, Slut. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I want to get there by mid-afternoon."
"Are you going to tell me where we are going?" "You'll figure it out when we get there."
Oh, thanks. That helps. (Can you tell I'm cranky from not enough sleep, or not enough coffee, one or the other?)
You take my leash and lesd me to the little store attached to the gas station. You enter before me (and I'm still thinking dark, ugly thoughts about being kept in the dark and not trusted with even a little bit of information) and when you stop short I bump up against your back because I'm not paying attention.
"Enough." You've turned to look at me, and I can see on your face that you know just the sorts of things I've been thinking, and you are very displeased with my attitude.
"Enough," you repeat, and tears spring into my eyes. I still don't think you know what that word does to me. It sounds so final, so awful, that every time you use it I'm crushed.
You swat me on the ass, in front of all those people who have now turned to look at the man reprimanding his child (and yes, I know. If I act like one...)
You hand me my leash and just point to the corner. "And stay there."
