I Love You

My therapist recently got fired from his part-time job as a high school councilor. He apparently led an evening bereavement peer support group. And he told one girl in this group that he loved her. That was the cause of his firing - that he told a high school student he loved her.

This leaves me with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. How can you say such things to a young person, a teen, and not anticipate bad consequences? It leads me to doubt his common sense. I assume that the teen was confused and uncomfortable. If she wasn't, I'm certain her parents were.

My therapist waved the firing away like a bad dream, and said, that if he can't be himself on a job then the job is not for him. I think he views his words as legitimate sentiment that is healing when said, healing in a double sense, both for himself and the receiver. I assume that for instance when he said "I love you" to me (about 4 months ago) I was supposed to take it just as if he said "I really really like you" and I leave it at that. Just the bubbling over of a feel good moment in therapy, where the two participants really connect. I know my therapist has a big thing about being authentic. He wants to be as much as possible true to his emotions and express what he is really thinking. I guess from his perspective when he feels a sentiment he thinks that in order for him to be healthy (and authentic) he owes it to himself to say it. Not saying it would be inauthentic and damaging to the self. Yeah, and my therapist sees another therapist every Monday.

In our society there are consequences to saying "I love you". It is such a strong sentiment that there has to be a lot of trust present to handle it. When he said it to me I had to think "He does not expect this to lead anywhere, he is not making a claim on me that conflicts with the claim that my husband has, and he is probably saying it as a brother would say it to a sister." I had my moment to consider myself mature in handling his outburst. However, in retrospect it was hard to handle and I wish he never said it. I feel like I am a healthier person NOT knowing that my therapist loves me, whatever on earth he meant by it. I mean, he said it was ridiculous not to be able to say it to the teenager without being pegged as a pedophile - his whole attitude was, when he brought it up, like, wouldn't that be ridiculous to think him a pedophile. But pedophile is I'm afraid exactly what the school system thought, and I would think it too, being a parent or teacher at the school.

I can't say "I love you" my therapist because I have a husband to be faithful to and my emotions are a mess when it comes to my therapist - I know I suffer from transference. I know that I have unwanted, unappreciated fantasies about my therapist that I have to keep under control and under wraps. Last session my therapist was talking about Jung and said that he had a patient who had such serious transference that she printed up wedding invitations that had him as the groom and her as the bride! Jung just ignored it. My therapists point was that Freud was quick to nip transference in the bud, he addressed it directly and tried to put an end to it. Freud was uncomfortable with transference while Jung was not. I also happen to know that Jung slept with some of his clients (while he was married). So Jung was so comfortable with transference that he went where countertransference led him. Attractions between therapist and patient can go both ways. It is up to both to ignore them, or else, sever ties. I knew a young man whose therapist ended their therapy by telling him that he had fallen in love with the young man and thus must end the therapy sessions. I like this falling upon your sword, it was very professional of the therapist, although it left the young man freaked out.

I would never tell my therapist that I have feelings for him, or fantasies, or anything that would put me in a weak, submissive position. I told him once that I had transference with him, and I think that was soon after I met him. He told me that there was zero percent chance of anything happening between him and me. So I mentioned it once and have never since referred to it again. Knowing that I was vulnerable to transference, his common sense should have kicked in and he should have known that he should never tell someone like me "I love you".

Driving home from our last session together, I wondered, does he tell men "I love you"? Or is it only pretty women? And then there was the disappointment. I thought for him to tell me "I love you", and the added admission that he knew he was breaking many rules of therapy by saying it, made me a special person. A patient unlike other patients. But since he told a high school student this, I doubt just how special I am. I am let down that he tells other clients that he loves them. Just human nature.

After he told me those three little words I told my friend Rocki who is a paranoid schizophrenic about the incident. She said that decades ago when she was institutionalized in a psychiatric hospital a female doctor told her that she loved her. It was meant in the spirit of "you aren't alone, there are people who care for you" - a sort of pity gesture. Unfortunately it did little good, it just got mixed up in the paranoid psychotic fantasies and obsessions that Rocki was currently having. On one level Rocki was sane enough to realize that she had been given a sincere and heartfelt gesture of friendship, and that the doctor was trying to give her a gift, but on another level the illness took over and manipulated the meaning of the words and the significance, fueling her psychotic ideas about the doctor.

There's a song that I call my anthem to my therapist. It's called "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga. In one part she belts out "I don't wanta be friends" and that is what transference feels like, you want to be more than friends with your therapist but you know that there are rules surrounding the encounter and you must abide by those rules. Everything has to remain chase. You sit six feet apart and must always remain sitting six feet apart. Gaga also sings about how she wants to be stricken with the object of her love's "sickness and disease" and that's the way I feel about my feelings toward my therapist, like they are his sickness and disease and I want to play with the contagious. I have a loving, happy relationship with my husband, why should my emotions wander? How could I threaten the major stabilizing force in my life? Therapy, when there is transference present, feels like you are playing with fire. So you burn. And burn. And are never consumed, nothing is consummated. In my case you don't even confess to your fantasies. I've read about transference (on the internet) and it is supposed to be a driving tool in therapy, it opens your emotions up to the therapist, and it is a by-product of a good relationship.

Still, I feel like my therapist is a train wreck. Rules being what they are in therapy, if I don't permit myself the luxury of telling my therapist that I love him, he can't permit himself the luxury of telling me that he loves me.

My husband knows everything, and as a matter of fact, so does my mother. I told my husband about what my therapist said while my mother was present while we were vacationing in California during this last Christmas season. My husband was pretty much speechless, but my mother was furious. She demanded I confront my therapist and tell him that what he said was wrong to say to a married woman. But against my mother's advice, I never censured my therapist, because I suppose I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Now that he has lost his high school job, my mother said I must talk to him and reinforce that he is following a mistaken path, reinforce the error of his ways from yet another source. But I can't beat a dog when they're down. He's just lost a major source of income, and he probably won't find another job working in a school system, that's traumatic enough. I suppose that deep down in my heart I'm afraid to contradict him, or confront him, or disagree with him, because I'm afraid that he will drop me as a client if he finds me disagreeable. I know that because my father emotionally abused me I have trouble going up against male figures of authority. Fear is deep in my heart. My father put it there with all of his screaming at me about nothing. I can go as far as to tell my therapist that I'm afraid he will drop me as a client if he finds me disagreeable. An irrational fear, I know. And yet, it seems real and logical to me.

While I was painting yesterday I was thinking about my therapist and it occurred to me that if a woman said "I love you" to my husband I would wish for him to cut off contact with her, or at the least, I would be deeply troubled. My mother said I have to be careful with my therapist, that something "catastrophic" could happen, and I know that this is her code word for rape. I asked my husband what he thought about my therapist. He said he doesn't trust him, but it takes two to have an affair, and he does trust me. At least he has high hopes for my love for him. And then my husband said that he knows how hard its been for me to find a therapist who helps me and will take the small insurance payment that we can offer. We both agree that this therapist has helped me - after the third or fourth session I stopped being suicidal. My husband and I to some small degree see my weekly sessions as an antidote to feeling suicidal. So you don't turn your back on success.

There is something else that is weird, complicating things. My therapist hasn't been paid in a long, long time. For a year and four months of therapy once a week he has received about $700. The problem is on his end; he won't do the book keeping that would get either the insurance company or Medicare to pay him. This too is why I think that personally he has troubles. I once told my therapist that if he didn't get paid he would begin to resent me, giving away therapy for free. He assured me that it would never happen. I asserted myself and said that it felt flat wrong that he was not paid and he said with a big smile, don't worry.

Once he suggested that I pay him in a painting. I got a little upset and he dropped the request. But two weeks ago he again suggested it (I think this was before the firing) and I thought, why not? So last week I arrived with a painting. It was the black lady dressed in white with the naked man with the head of a stag. There is nothing violent or overtly sexual about this painting, it is one of the most benign I have ever done. It isn't my best but it is good. And it is appropriate for him to hang in a therapist's office, which is where he said he would put it.

Somehow I think with his reduced income and sudden spare time my therapist will bill me, going back to last March or April. I will know that I've been billed when my husband's insurance company sends me its decision on how much, or even if, it will pay him. If the insurance company doesn't pay then he submits this paperwork to Medicare and they should pay. I started seeing this therapist by telling him that I could only afford what Medicare offered (about $34 a session) and that I could not afford a co-pay. My last therapist wanted Medicare and a twenty dollar a session co-pay. I told her I could not afford a co-pay every week so I had to see her only twice a month. She changed her mind and said that she would see me every week and accept Medicare. I continued getting bills from her and she said just ignore them. It was an unsettling feeling getting the bills in the mail and only having a verbal agreement not to pay them. Oh, and it was terrible therapy, with me always crying in her office and talking about the Institute, where I was locked up twenty years ago. She didn't help me a spit.

And then to top off this week of I love you issues, I emailed my Lenten essay to my minister and did not hear back from her. It was a chatty email with the essay attached and I signed it Love, Karen, which I instantly regretted. She's going to think I've got a psychotic obsession with her, or some sort of unhealthy attachment and that is why she hasn't emailed me back. Or it could be the content of my Lenten essay. These essays are assigned one a day, to different people, spanning the whole of the Lenten season. They are supposed to be your inspiration after reading different quotes from the Bible. This is what I wrote;

When I was nineteen my brain changed because of schizophrenia. My brain was what had made me president of the debate club and on the dean’s list at Barnard College. I went from being a social shark to someone who was so pitiful that they crawled across the hospital floor instead of walking. I stopped talking, lost my ability to read, and sat under tables. I was institutionalized for two years on a locked ward.

When I got out of the hospital I tried to go back to college and failed. I tried again and failed. I tried a third time and failed again. Eventually I had to face that I was no longer the person I used to be. And I could not have a life like most other people had.

During the next decade, one after another, good people entered my life. They were mentally ill friends, a few nice boyfriends, and I was treated very well by the parents of one boyfriend. There was a strange balance in my life. I was limited and often in pain from psychiatric symptoms, but I had fun too. I was happy even though I had to be hospitalized again some seven times.

Today I am stabilized on medication. I married the kindest man I have ever known. There is a lot of love and laughter in my life but also a broken brain that sometimes doesn’t work. Truly I can say that I’ve been blessed. When I eat a pint of blueberries I feel blessed. When I play with my puppy I feel blessed. When I finish a painting I feel blessed. When I walk to the post office I feel blessed. To eat, to love, to work, to walk – all this is so simple and all this is a blessing. My illness taught me to take nothing for granted. My illness ground me down into dust and then I was made new. So I must wonder, was my illness a blessing in disguise?

So I'm afraid that I've outed myself to the church and the minister doesn't approve. Yes, this fear is all in my head but it was awfully peculiar sending her a friendly email (with talk and pictures of my puppy) and getting no reply.

I shouldn't have signed the email Love, Karen, but to this both my therapist and my husband think I'm over reacting and making much ado about nothing.

Tomorrow I'm drawing a really big bug on a drawing that is a composition for a painting. Its an ugly bug. I should draw a dragonfly because they are pretty, but I don't know. I'm afraid that ugly is the new pretty for me. Perhaps the painting won't sell because there is a big, ugly bug on it. I wish I could feel enthusiastic that I know what I'm doing but I'm not. Maybe I would be happier drawing a fairy with wings instead of a big ugly bug.

Have to wait until tomorrow to see if inspiration will hit. I'll look through some art books and try to steal other painter's ideas.

Starting to Paint

I've painted yesterday and today. Noticed that there is a difference if music isn't playing. I can paint longer when there is dead silence. I assume that the schizophrenia reacts to the stimuli of the music, and not having music doesn't inflame symptoms of my illness. If I paint and listen to music I'm taxing myself more than simply painting alone. Eventually the hours of work gets to me, and I'm exhausted, but I'd rather be exhausted later than sooner.

Its a real pleasure to paint. And I'm excited to see the design that was just pencil sketched come to life with color and shading. While I paint Cherry Blossom sleeps. For me, it couldn't get better than that.

Cherry is scared of cars. So I'm trying to get her around as many cars as possible. I didn't know what to do with her fear so I emailed the breeder. The breeder said to take her on LOTS of car rides and to have fun when we get wherever we are going. Of course the number one car that Cherry was afraid of was our own. At times we had to pick her up to get her to pass by it - she so struggled to go in the opposite direction. I feared that forcing her to face her fear would traumatize and scar her, that maybe with age she would grow out of the fear. But the breeder seemed to suggest that having more experience with her fear while she was young and impressionable, rather than less, would help to socialize her. So we take her when we can to places in the car. And just this morning I took her to a park (across the street from us) which she particularly fears. It's the fact that the park sidewalk runs along the side of the road. We don't have a lot of traffic but we have some. Each car freaks Cherry out. But I'm determined to take her to this stretch of sidewalk every day. That should help with her little fear. Problem with today's walk by the park was that it was just before breakfast, and the experience was so upsetting that Cherry lost her appetite and was barely interested in eating. She's a growing girl and really needs her three big meals a day. So the walk by the park has to be between feedings. Cherry's appetite is affected by her emotions. Sensitive girl.

And I felt like an idiot today too but I went up to my neighbor's car while it was idling and the owner was brushing snow off of it, patted the hood, and said to it, "good car". This too is advice from the breeder, to walk up to the things that scare Cherry (fire hydrant, garbage bag, cars, and garbage cans) and talk to them really friendly and then simply move on. I guess the dog takes clues from your behavior.

Last Friday night was a social night. I went to a woman's apartment because she has a Chocolate Labrador, just over a year old. In doggie time this animal still has a lot of puppy energy. I wanted my puppy to play with the older dog. All that Cherry had done so far was bark at other dogs and this mightily concerned me. I don't want to be walking Cherry down the street and have her go nuts simply passing another dog on the sidewalk. She needs to be comfortable with humans and canines. Part of the reason they make it illegal to sell a dog before it is 8 weeks old in New Hampshire and Connecticut (don't know about Vermont) is that the doggies are spending important time bonding with one another.

My therapist picked up a year old dog from the humane society that had a nasty habit of attacking other dogs while he was walking her. He said that his whole body tensed, unhappily, whenever they were outside and encountered another dog on a leash. His dog would be straining at the end of his leash and looking vicious. But while he was in therapy, he would bring his dog in to see his patients, and his dog would respond empathically to people in pain or crying by putting her head in their lap while they were most upset. For that reason, my therapist was wild about the animal and how she helped him in his practice. But from what he told me, given her unknown puppyhood, something went very wrong with animal socialization and I suspect she was separated too early from her mother and siblings. I want Cherry to have the joy of playing with other dogs, just like I want strangers to have the joy of patting her head and maybe getting a friendly lick from her.

All I had to do was sit back and watch the Chocolate Lab and Cherry do their thing. They played furiously. The Lab was so excited it drooled, and Cherry's head was one tiny, wet furry skull. The Lab towered over Cherry and way, way, outmassed her. I was worried about an eye getting poked out or an ear torn because Cherry was often on the ground getting rolled over by the bigger dog. Cherry occasionally was intimidated, and would huddle against my legs for protection, and then something in her would rally, and she would leap and snap at the old dog and run along side her. Cherry's got guts. Yes, a lot of things may scare her, but when it comes to people and other dogs she does fine, no fear. I'm hoping for another play date this Friday too. I'll sweeten the deal for the woman and offer her fresh bagels and lox cream cheese, one of her favorite foods. I figure the two of us can eat dinner while we watch the furry monster's play. What is good for my dog is good for her dog too. And she lives on disability, so I doubt she'll turn down a free meal.

It really is a milestone that I have the presence of mind to paint. For a while with Cherry her needs and behavior required me to constantly have eyes on her, and this wearied me greatly. And I think I made more stress for myself by also worrying about Cherry a lot. I loved her with a love that consumed me. She still is new and precious and fragile, but we kinda fit together better. I don't feel the need to know at all minutes exactly where she is and what she is doing. But my oh my, how I love to look into her eyes. And she stares right back at me with all the self possession and determination I could ever wish for. A creature with a soul all of its own.

I'm starting to think about the gallery that has expressed interest in showing my artwork. I'm starting to think about creating a show. The owner of the gallery wants my work in groups, with a grouping of three being the smallest. I do prejudge my work even when it is just in pencil form - I ask is it good enough for the gallery? Too bad that I do that. It dissuades me from experimentation, because if I stray from a style that works, the gallery might not show what is too new and different. I've also got another little problem. I'm afraid to sell the really good pieces, I want to keep them on display in my home. I know the best remedy is to just keep producing and eventually you'll have so much that you don't know what to do with them and run out of room for hanging them.

Yes, I'm ready and eager to paint everyday. Tomorrow I have a therapy appointment and then in the evening peer support group, so I can't waste energy on painting, I have to conserve myself for my obligations. That's part of the schizophrenic illness too; picking what you will do for the day because you are limited in what you can do. For instance, I'll watch t.v. before my therapy appointment because this is mindless activity and it will keep me fresh for the other more draining activity of talking with my therapist. The free hours are there to paint, there is distance between when I wake and when I have to visit the therapist, but I'll keep myself calm, cool, collected, and unchallenged. Creativity is a challenge, there are shapes and colors to be decided upon, hundreds of little choices to make when you have a brush in your hand, and while I want to paint I won't. I've said to my therapist before "you get the best of me" and this is true. I won't waste the best of me painting.

However, the day after tomorrow is completely free, and happily I will look forward to exhausting myself on that day painting.

Cherry Nips

I wrote a 6 page letter about getting Cherry and our first few weeks with her, sent it out to family and friends, with these two photographs included. These all were people who for Christmas gave us money instead of gifts to help pay for Cherry. I just wanted to let them into my life and see a little the joy and the pain the puppy has caused.

It has been a joy because Cherry is so cute and loving, but a pain because I'm not getting the amount of sleep I used to be getting. Maybe part of the problem too is that I'm over worked - hard to believe that a puppy could make a fully grown woman cry at the end of the day with exhaustion - but I do have the schizophrenic illness. Another symptom of how over extended I become, - at the end of the day often my face turns red like a lobster. Nose red, cheeks red, forehead red, not just a pretty flush but a screaming red.

There is a little less pressure on me because it seems like we have housetrained our puppy. She hasn't had an accident in the house for about five days. We do take her out frequently. And whenever she rings the bell we take her out. Hanging next to the door is a pink ribbon and at the end of the ribbon is a bell. Cherry knows now that if she shakes it I will come and we will go outside. Sometimes she shakes it every fifteen minutes, especially after a meal. So I put on my snow boots and coat and gloves and out into the cold we go. I do think sometimes Cherry just is bored and wants some excitement, but she always pees first thing out the door, even when there is just a little in her. She understands the command "get busy" and will squat too when she hears this and try to pee, even when there is nothing left in her. We are also training her with treats, and she knows sit and down. Not bad for a ten week puppy.

So I'm not constantly watching Cherry trying to catch her in mid squat in the house. I know that when she's quiet this isn't a sign that she's trying to go to the bathroom. That takes a little pressure off me. I was getting really good at spotting her and stopping her in mid pee or poo and then whisking her outside. One morning I ran out in my pajamas and stocking feet. Outch, that was cold.

Right now my hands have tiny little maroon scabs all over them, more on the right hand than the left. Cherry is nipping. She wants to play with her mouth. I met a man shoveling snow and he played with Cherry and told me he had a six month old Rottweiler puppy and he showed me his hands and they looked the same as my own. So I'm wondering how long this phase is going to last. Whenever we play with Cherry we have a toy with us and when she tries to nip we shove the toy in her mouth, and as she chews it, we praise her. There is no doubt in my mind that she knows the toys are hers to chew on, but we her owners must be irresistible subjects. As I walk across the floor sometimes I am dragging her little body because her teeth are sunk into the bottom of my jean leg. When she tries to put her mouth on my computer cable I give her a "time out" and lock her in her crate. Only for a few minutes. It is enough time to disrupt her behavior, and she does not return to it when she is let out of the crate.

My kitchen table has brown kraft paper covering it and then a table easel on it with a gessoed board on the easel. This is my next painting. Also on the table are decorative tins with paints in them. Each decorative tin has a different word on it; Blue, Yellow, Red, Green, Black and White. All my oil paint is in these tins. I've chosen the colors for my paintings but the tops are so cemented to the tubes of paint (after all I haven't painted for over a year) that my husband is going to have to twist them with a pair of pliers. I can open almost nothing by myself.

So I should be able to return to painting next week. It will be a sweet homecoming.

Until I start painting I am spending short amounts of time working on an ongoing stenciling project. There is a beam in the center of the kitchen, painted cream, that leads to a beam across the ceiling, painted white. I want to stencil in green designs that I've made myself. Of course at a craft store you can buy laser cut stencils, very fancy, but I have an artist's kitchen, and I want my talent reflected in the room around me. I am an artist, I should be able to make my own stencils. I am not telling my mother the landlord about the project, I figure in the summer I'll just do it, and if it looks nice, it should be appreciated. I've got a sketch book that I sketch designs. The fun part is that I will make many designs, and then just use the best. And the more I do, the better I think they look. Practice makes improvement.

Welcome Cherry Blossom

We picked up our puppy Friday evening. When we got to the breeder's she said, "Let me bring out the puppies" and my heart skipped a beat. We had been told that she would pick out our puppy for us, but since she was bring out two puppies, maybe we would have a choice. This turned out to be the situation. Both puppies were happy playing and very affectionate with us, they both licked us enthusiastically. But while the breeder left the room for a little while my husband and I looked at one another and almost together said, "the light one is for us". We had an immediate favorite. In the car home I said to my husband, "what was it about her that made us pick her?" and he thought for a few moments and said, "she was more relaxed". It was precious when the breeder returned the puppy that we would not be taking to her mother. Our puppy sat and gazed at the door that her playmate had disappeared from and was very still with puzzlement and sadness, for indeed she had never been without the company of her siblings.

Sitting and looking at you with a steady gaze is something that Cherry is good at. She just studies your face, waiting. Catching the intelligent gaze of a German Shepherd is what I think I love about the breed the most. I don't have a picture yet of her looking at me with a studying air about her. I was taking photographs of her without the flash on and the shutter speed was so slow that very few pictures came out in focus. But I will take more pictures, and try to capture what I see as her best quality.

Our puppy might be fundamentally laid back, but she is oh so many other things as well. We are going to have to do a good job socializing her because she has a shy streak. Not around us in the kitchen, here all she wants to do is play and explore. She gallops when she is happy, like when you call her name and she comes to you. She will run with great leaps in the air and her paws go "thud, thud" as they pound the linoleum floor.

But when we have visitors she hides in her crate. When she is picked up by a stranger she shakes. There are many things that cause her to shake. The cat walking by. The garbage can outdoors. A running car motor. In fact, for the first time today I got her to walk to the end of the street. The street where we park is a dead end and very quiet, but in front of our front door is a street that has moderately heavy traffic and she has been afraid to go walking near it. I took a plastic container filled with doggie treats and shook it as we walked toward the busy street. Every few feet she went forward I rewarded her with a treat. Eventually we made it to the beginning of the street. More treats, and then she turned tail and tried to make it as fast as she could back to where our driveway begins and familiar territory.

Last night we went out to rent a movie and my husband held her in his lap in the car. At first she shook and then relaxed. My husband entered the store holding her and again she shook but then relaxed. He got the man working behind the counter to pet her. Tomorrow I am going to my therapist's and I have permission to take her with me. I'll put her crate into the back of the car, then put her in it. This is the way I drove to the vet's yesterday. What was encouraging at the vets was that in the waiting room Cherry happily went up to strangers and licked their hands. So she is friendly, that might beat her shy streak. At my therapist's all I want is for him to feed her treats, and if he's willing, hold her. My therapist's office is in a library (a library where people bring their dogs believe it or not - that's the luxury of a sleepy little town) and I hope to get the librarian to socialize with the puppy as well. I'm a little desperate for as many strangers as possible to handle Cherry. I even went as far as to approach a teenager chipping ice across the street and asked if he would hold her. He said no but his mother came out to see what was going on. I've forgotten her name, even though sometimes we wave to one another. I explained to the mother that my puppy needed strangers to hold her and the mother took Cherry into her arms. She said, "is she shaking because it is cold outside or because she's scared of me" and I said, "a little of both". So we went indoors. Never been in their house before even though we are neighbors. The mother swayed back and forth while she held Cherry and eventually Cherry stopped shaking. Then her son came in and agreed to hold the dog as well. Cherry even went as far as to lick both their hands, a very welcome sign.

Funny thing is, I am a shy person. It is hard for me to approach people I don't know well. But I want the best for my dog. I care about her personality growth. So I'm really pushing myself in contacting people to come over to the house. In two days a woman from Church is coming over to do some volunteer work (the pictorial directory, still not finished) and I had to reverse plans - we had set it that I was to go to her house. For the past year I've been working at her home. But I called her asked her for the favor to come over to my house. I said please, spoil my dog with treats. And she laughed and said that a dog she once owned peed with fear whenever someone new entered the house. So she knows the consequences if I don't socialize, she knows what I'm trying to avoid.

Cherry is lucky that she has emotional, caring owners. She is so sensitive that she could be easily ruined. Perhaps most German Shepherds are like this. The vet told me yesterday that she defiantly recommends puppy kindergarten. But this put me in a terrible predicament. The breeder said that she used to teach puppy kindergarten, and then one of the puppies got sick with parvo (because they were too young to receive the vaccination) and gave parvo to all the other puppies and some died. "Never again!!!!!!! No kindergarten, no Petco, no Petsmart, no place where other dogs go, you are smart enough that you can teach her the basic commands, sit, stay, come, down, and you are smart enough to make certain she gets a lot of socialization!!!!!!!" said the email, with all those exclamation marks. I promised the breeder that we would guard our dog's health and not take her to where there were other dogs until she had her three series of shots, at about 16 weeks of age. So I repeated all this to the vet and the vet shook her head. "I've seen so many dogs euthanized because of bad behavior, the number of deaths from euthanization way outweighs the number of puppies that get sick" she said. "You can wait until her next vaccination at twelve weeks to start puppy kindergarten". So there it was, two conflicting advice, both given with the most urgent regard.

If Cherry weren't a shy German Shepherd, if she were say a Labrador Retriever which just wants to love everyone and be loved by everyone I wouldn't worry so much about puppy kindergarten. But in puppy kindergarten there is puppy play time, where the dogs at the same age play with each other (they need to be socialized with canines as well as humans) and then you play games like pass the puppy, where everyone sits in a circle and you pass the puppy to the person on your left. It is a lot of fun. But you get advice too, as to what to do about nipping and other undesirable behaviors, as well as how to teach basic commands. For instance, I've forgotten how to make a puppy go into a down. I could research the command on the internet. Already I've watched videos that teach the come command and it was very helpful.

Teaching commands doesn't just make an obedient dog, it makes the dog subservient to you and it establishes a hierarchy of control where you are at the top and the dog knows that it is at the bottom. Dogs want structure. They want a hierarchy. And if you don't step up to the plate, and take control, they will think that it is their job to be in control, and trust me, a dog's idea of being the leader is wild, untamed and dangerous. German Shepherds, because they are so smart, want to know exactly the way the world works and what is their place in the hierarchy. I used to think that all a dog needed was love. That was before my beloved German Shepherd puppy Plum tried to take a huge bite out of my shoulder. Her attempt at control, and dominance, taught me that I had to be stronger. My will must never break, it is her will that must be undone. So now I look at my puppy and think "you think you can get your way? You just don't know that I have more patience than you, and that in any contest of wills, I will wait you out, never waiver, and I will always win because I'm a human and you aren't." My husband told me last night that he could never think like that, that it isn't his personality, but I know that you can be trained to think like that, and that it didn't come naturally to me either at first.

Several nights ago Cherry was confined to her crate in our kitchen and my husband and I were out at the grocery store. When we entered the video store I suddenly started crying. Concerned my husband asked what was wrong. This is what I said. "I know its really neurotic but I'm afraid that while we're away our house will catch on fire and Cherry will die." It was so hard for me to be parted from her. It was so hard for me not to have my eye on her every minute. And I was sleep deprived. Cherry was waking us up at three in the morning, howling because she needed to go to the bathroom. And then she howled when we tried to put her back in the crate, so I had to go into the kitchen with her. I had to be awake, either giving her bathroom breaks or correcting her on what to chew. She really wants to chew the bottom of our sofa. So you say no, pull her away from the sofa, and put a toy in her mouth. By now she knows that toys can be chewed on at any time, with any level of aggression. She gets praised for playing with her toys. But I make a horrible noise when she tries to chew my shoes or the ends of my coat. "Epp!" You have to constantly watch her, guide her, and if she piddles or poos, catch her in the middle with a loud "NO!" When she goes to the bathroom outdoors she gets praise, the command "get busy" while it is going on, and after, a doggie treat.

Going outdoors is a bit of a production. You put on your coat and shoes and she immediately knows what is coming next. Then you go to the door and she has to sit pretty and still while you clip on her leash. She must sit again when you take the leash off. In one day she learned how to do this. Also, at various times I take a treat and say "sit" and give her the treat while she is sitting. Once the leash is on Cherry you ring the bell that hangs next to the door and say "Outside" as you open the door. Eventually she will ring the bell when she wants to go outside and alert us to her need. And as you brave the cold, don't forget to grab the treat cup so that after she goes you can reward her. She definitely knows to pee outdoors. So many nice things happen when she pees outdoors. And I'm encouraged that the last time she peed indoors, it was right in front of the outside door, as though she had thoughts in that direction.

Today I had a missed opportunity. My husband got up before me and took care of the dog at 4:30 in the morning. She had two hours of play before he left for work. When he left he put her back in her crate, and for the first time, she didn't whimper and howl. So I could sleep. But my sleep was horrible, for I must have been listening for her sounds. I dreamed that Cherry was drowning. Alarmed I woke fully. I looked at the clock and only twenty minutes of sleep had passed since my husband left. It was 7:05 am. Pre-Cherry I might sleep until 9 or 10. But ever since Cherry has arrived I have lost morning hours of sleep. My medication makes me sleep 10 to 12 hours, but instead I sleep 7 or 8 hours, a luxury for most, but not enough for me. So this leads to days that are foggy and emotionally fragile. Last night my husband said that my cheeks were red. He even got a mirror to show me, he was so concerned. I said it must be a consequence of being over-tired. Sunday my mother visited and said that I had bags under my eyes. And yes, last night after saying that I was so tired I wanted to cry but I couldn't cry, I did indeed weep tears of exhaustion.

I'm giving Cherry Blossom my all. Today I sat in front of a vine that grows in our bathroom and sketched from life exactly 5 leaves. That was all I had concentration for.

And I have not mentioned my newly formed extreme respect for mothers and their newborns or toddlers. My sister currently is living with one of each. My admiration for what she goes through has never been so high.

There are moments of reward. This morning I took the sleeping puppy on the ground into my arms up on the sofa. She must have loved the warmth of my body because she stayed sleeping for another half an hour. As I looked at her this entire time, stroking her soft fur and smelling her, I thought "this is as close as I will ever come to holding my own baby."

So call me a happy wreck.

Pulling hair

It is so exciting to know that I have no obligations, no interruptions, and that when I wake, after I have shook off the drugged feeling of medicated sleep, I can draw. I started a new drawing yesterday and had to stop only when my concentration quit me. There were still visions dancing in my head. A figure here. Two figures there. What are the two doing, fighting or playing leap frog? I don't know until I put pencil to paper and until I have a new day with new powers of concentration.

There is a wealth that some artists have that isn't measured by money. I see it as a mental wealth; the ability to draw for hours upon hours. To meter out their concentration as steady and abundant, this the gift of others, not me. A local art school has drawing classes where they draw from life, hiring a model, and I know I would be lucky to last for forty-five minutes. That would be all that is in me. And yet sometimes this class has marathons where they gather and draw for many, many hours. It boggles my mind, what some others are capable of.

This drawing, "Pulling Hair" was started in for a class that I took over two years ago. I started the drawing and it lay unfinished in a sketch book. It was fun to finish the drawing - I dare say that there are elements of good creativity in it. To draw the braided hair I took two sneakers and braided their shoe laces together then drew what I saw. But the untidy hair that is being pulled will be the most fun to paint. I intend to use a pallet knife and brushes and to make it as wild as can be, many shades of yellow. Or is she a red head and needs shades of orange? I haven't decided upon a color scheme yet, but one thing is for certain. All the outlines are intact. It is truly a primitive drawing, all done from the imagination. No real hands, no real feet, no real faces, only the shoe laces to make a believable braid. And the cat? It came from an artist's book of cats - cat pictures all painted, no photographs. So I copied the cat, stole the cat. Even though there are two cats in the house it was easier to copy. So perhaps the claim that it is all from imagination is false. But those dresses, patterns I made up. And the basic premise, one woman pulling another woman's hair, that was all my own. It has just a touch of violence about it. Maybe more than a touch. I think I'll put hair pulling in my next drawing as well. You don't need a sword or a gun, just your fists to inflict harm. No blood, just a little agony.

I've barely painted with a pallet knife but the experience was so profound that I am incorporating it into this painting and my next one. Here it is hair that will be depicted by the scraping and blunt and smeared lines of the pallet knife, but in the next drawing it is a blue cascading waterfall that will be constructed using a pallet knife. I'm interested in a painting where different techniques are used. I'll have my usual blending and layering of transparent paints with the tiniest of brushes. Truly, I've walked into an art supply store looking for the smallest brushes they sell. But the down side of using tiny brushes is that it takes so long to paint and in my case boredom sets in.

I tried explaining to my husband that the death in November of my German Shepherd has shaken me to the core. I don't feel depressed, indeed I look forward to the puppy that is waiting for me at the breeder in New Hampshire, but inside of me a little spark died when my dog died. I told my husband that it feels like my ambition has abandoned me. I simply don't care about getting ahead in this world. That is not a natural state of affairs for me, I tend to be always scheming how I'll have another art show, or write a book and get it published. I used to like to push myself to work toward a goal every day. But since my dog died I've noticed that I do what the day requires of me, and find something to occupy my time, but I'm not pushing in any direction. Thus the conclusion that my ambition has abandoned me.

But my husband saw a different phenomena. He said that my ambition has been redirected toward getting another dog. I put in the energy and the drive to make it happen, from emailing breeders to telling my family that the only Christmas presents I wanted was money to cover the costs of the next dog. And truly, step by step my home was transformed to welcome the puppy. We bought baby gates to keep her confined in the kitchen. We bought all the supplies a new puppy might need during multiple trips to different dog stores; a pink collar, a pink leash, a leash that attaches to our body for training, a leash that is 50 ft long for training that essential word "come", soft treats cut into small bits and plastic containers to hold them, so that the container might be shook and make a distinctive sound, signaling that a treat is coming after the command is given. Of course there was the heavy large bag of puppy food, and some canned food to mix it with for taste, there was the washing out of my dead dog's own puppy bowl, (how on earth it was saved and found is a little miracle after 9 years, a small metal bowl for small puppy meals served three a day). We bought a smaller crate for the puppy to be house trained in, when crated they will hold their pee and poop for fear of fouling where they sleep. So many tiny steps, even, the last, done just yesterday.

We went to Wal-Mart to buy some ribbon. Pink ribbon for Cherry Blossom. The ribbon is so that a bell can be hung at dog nose level. Leave the house, and say "outside" and ring the bell each time. Eventually the trained dog will ring the bell with her nose when she wants to go outside to go to the bathroom. A ringing bell to alert anyone near that the dog has a physical need. Fair play, since she won't be allowed to go in the house. As the dog grows, and nose level changes, we can shorten the ribbon and up the bell goes.

And then there was the very big task of vacuuming carpets, rolling them up, and storing them in the barn. At the age of 6 months housetraining should be complete, and hopefully the dog will have good muscle control over its bowels. Then the rugs can go back. But I'm uncertain. The rugs might go back once the dog has stopped its chewing phase. We are being careful. I took all the magnets off of the lower part of the refrigerator. I don't want my museum art magnets chewed. Once the dog is left alone in the house, we will see if separation anxiety causes her to chew.

I told my therapist that some of my ambition is gone because my dog died. He said that apathy is a part of depression, and that what I may be feeling is apathy. It could be apathy. I just didn't care very much about being creative for a while, but I will admit that is changing. The drawing "Pulling Hair" is finished, the next step is to transfer the drawing to gessoed board. Inbetween steps I will work on the drawing I started yesterday. Two paintings should be going at one time. When one is wet I can work on the other.

When puppy arrives I must spend my days in the kitchen and paint or draw there. The kitchen table which always has a decorative table cloth and runner, as well a flowers and candles (my little pretty display in the middle of the room that screams "domestic") has been replaced with a bare table covered in a long strip of brown craft paper. Don't want the puppy to pull at a table cloth, and I need a place to paint and to accidentally drop paint. My art table is in a room that is unsuitable for a puppy, so, at least until spring, I'll be setting up my table easel on the kitchen table. The light there isn't as good as in my art room. In the art room there is a line of halogen lights bolted to the ceiling above my work space, aimed down at me. In the kitchen there is just a regular lamp in the ceiling to my right, and to the further right a big window. Behind me there is little light and no light to my left. Have to plan all small scale paintings that can fit on the table easel. The drawing that I've shown here in the beginning of this blog entry is only 8" by 10".

A new puppy and new paintings. A finished drawing and an unfinished drawing that is begging to be filled with detail.

Life is pretty fun.

Puppy Visit

Went yesterday to visit the puppies. Now they are 9 days away from being legal to sell. A puppy has to be at least 8 weeks old to be legally parted from its mother and sold to a new owner.

The car ride into New Hampshire to get to the breeder takes an hour and 20 minutes. During that time I had a hard time concentrating on the road. Good thing Mike was driving. It was like I couldn't wake up, but it was 12 noon. Either it was my illness affecting cognitive abilities or else I had a bad medication interaction from the night before. But I had done nothing different with my medications and I had gotten a full night's sleep. Very frustrating when your head isn't working correctly, even when it is not particularly noticeable to other people. I kept telling myself that when we got to the puppies my adrenaline would kick in and I would be able to focus just fine on the little monsters. This is exactly what seemed to happen. But on the ride home I again had trouble with concentration and sleepiness, it was like my brain didn't want to work and was with-holding intelligence and awareness from me. Schizophrenia is so much more than just the stuff that's absurd, painful and delusional - it is a brain malfunctioning at the very root of conscious awareness. At least when I falter, this is the way it goes. There is less of me that is alive. Schizophrenia kills little pieces of me, but leaves little pieces to be aware and observant of what is missing.

I had a good method of luring a puppy to me. All of us were sitting in a kitchen but the puppies were either most comfortable circling the breeder (she is familiar) or exploring their surroundings. You had to do something, or else the puppies would ignore you. I noticed that my husband would lean forward and put his face almost to the floor, and then immediately as many as three puppies at one time would bound forward to lick his face. Whenever a face was put within reach the puppies would respond by licking it. Pick up a puppy and put it near your face and the same thing happens. They are so young, but they know faces, even human faces, are a point of communication and power. So a face near ground level attracted a puppy. But what I did was to scratch the floor as though I were digging for something. This too would attract a puppy - they would wander over to see what you were uncovering. Perhaps it was the clicking of my fingernails against the linoleum floor. Anyway, play digging got puppy's attention. The breeder put out two orange tangerines, perfect round objects, and I tried rolling them and getting the puppies interested in a rolling object but only a few responded. Not yet there developmentally I guess.

The breeder sat in a chair and snipped each puppy's toenails. The puppies didn't mind, so I noted that this is a habit I must continue when I bring mine home. Plum Pudding hated her toenails clipped, only a groomer or the vet could clip them and that left too much time for them to grow long. Another thing I'm going to do a lot of is putting my hand inside the puppy's mouth in case I have to give the dog medication. For Plum we would put the medication in meat and feed it to her that way. I was afraid of putting my hand in her mouth because I didn't want to get bit. What I'm not going to do is brush my puppy's teeth. We will also need to give puppy a bath in not too long a time, getting it used to being cleaned in the tub with soap and water. All the new experiences I have to put puppy through so that it is a well adjusted dog. Finding families with children is important - I know of one bi-polar mother of a four year old and a two year old and I'm thinking that I will offer to take puppy to her home to play with her children. I want the dog to play with children. It will be hard for me to invite myself over, she is very nice and I don't think will have any worry or misgivings, only, I am shy to ask. Everyone in my peer support group that meets Wednesday evenings at the local hospital will be invited over to my home to play with the puppy. You want as many strangers as possible to handle the puppy. Of course supervised visits, because God forbid the puppy should have a traumatic experience, dogs will remember. I trust the people in the mental illness peer support group as good people, with the exceptions of some of the members of a local group home. Those people are very sick and most are sweet, but hidden cruelty is a possibility, some I can't get a read on. I am uncertain what they are capable of because of the severity of their illness. They are outside of ordinary in terms of their personality.

Once the puppy has had its distemper shots, (it takes a series of shots for this disease), I can take the puppy to public places where there might be other dogs and I can take the puppy to other dogs to play with. My husband as a child knew another child who had a puppy that died of distemper, the poor thing wasted away, so the disease is real and it is out there. I want my dog to play with other dogs, but some of the people I know don't have much money for vet visits and their dogs could be carriers for distemper. My husband said that the disease is like that, a dog can have it but not get sick, merely pass it on to others, or it can get sick and die. Better safe than sorry. Need to keep the puppy at home for about three weeks, the space of time for the vet to give it all its shots. One place that will be fun to visit with the puppy after its had its shots is a coffee house in downtown Brattleboro that allows dogs. I love cappuccinos.

As we drove home from the breeder's we stopped at two pet supply stores. It feels a bit like we are preparing for the coming of a baby. This weekend and next the kitchen will be transformed. Yesterday my husband installed one baby gate, today he installs a second. Then the puppy can run around the kitchen but not get to the rest of the apartment. I practiced hooking together and collapsing the metal crate that will be used to housetrain the puppy. When the puppy is put in the crate it holds it's bladder because it takes the small space as a den, and instinctively it shouldn't want to mess its den. Open the crate and immediately take the dog outside to relieve itself. We should be able to sleep through the night if the puppy is in its crate and have no messes. When I take the puppy to the vet the crate is put in the car so I can drive without a puppy underfoot or going to the bathroom on the car upholstery. This weekend I take down all the Christmas decorations, next weekend we roll up the rugs that cover the kitchen's linoleum floor and take down all the art magnets on the refrigerator door. Chewed magnets are a health risk. The magnetic pieces can bind to each other in the intestines and it takes surgery to get them out. I know this about toddlers, the same must be true for a puppy. Unhappily, this drive to take no risks with the little one's health led to a fight between my husband and I.

Several days ago I said that the dog would be getting dog food and nothing else because I thought that human food was somehow involved in my last dog getting bloat and dying. However my husband thought that it was the chews we gave Plum after her meal that caused her to have bloat, and more, that a dog not getting delicious human food was depriving it of one of the greatest joys in living. We were so opposed to how we were going to feed the dog that my husband said a hurtful thing; he said if we had ever had children we would have divorced over fighting how they would be raised.

In my household we don't talk about divorce. That's a no-no. That my husband had no confidence in us working out a problem was to me an upsetting idea. You are supposed to fight and struggle within a marriage and yet keep the marriage going; it is a lot of hard work but you are supposed to put in the hard work and endure conflict for the sake of the marriage. But what I said to my husband, after he told me I loved this puppy more than him, and after he said he wanted nothing to do with the dog (since I wouldn't budge over how it was to be fed) I told my husband that the essence of the issue with food was bloat. All I cared about was that the dog not get bloat. This was what was causing me to be argumentative and dig my heels in. So I told him let me do research on bloat on the internet. And the next day I spend three hours doing exactly that.

Turns out that giving dog canned food, or else real meat, is good for their digestion and avoiding bloat. There is nothing wrong either with giving the dog human food (with some exceptions that cause gas) or chew toys after dinner. Both of us were wrong in thinking we knew what killed our dog. So when my husband got home from work we sat in bed and went over all the research I had printed out from websites and discussed. We found it then very easy to compromise. We would feed the dog a combination of canned food and dry food. The bloat causing factor is how much water you give the dog around feeding time, if there is exercise around feeding time, and it is better to give two smaller meals, breakfast and dinner, instead of one big meal. Bloat is the second killer of dogs after cancer. And so few people know what precautions to take. If I had spent three hours doing research on bloat while my dog was alive she would still be alive today.

So while my husband and I experience joy at the idea of the new dog, we have anxiety and conflict as well. I am very strict on ideas of safety, my husband is very invested in the dog being happy. I have made a resolution to stop saying the one thing that I have in the past used as a weapon against my husband, "at least no child I raised would grow up to be a stripper." In our fight over the dog, when my husband told me we would divorce because our ideas on child raising are so different, I pulled out that old line. It is a hurtful thing to say and I'm not certain why but I'm putting it to rest. Reality is I don't know what would happen if I were to have become a mom. I could have raised a drug addict that stripped to support her habit. I doubt it, but one never knows. Why should I be so self assured about my powers as a mother?

Know one of my greatest horrors? Besides another case of bloat? Having a dog that pulls on the leash. I hate walking downtown and seeing these humans practically tripping over their own feet because they are being pulled so fast by a dog that is choking itself while it is straining at the end of a lead. I see dogs walking people, not people walking dogs. I will do anything to avoid that behavior. And I know how much work and discipline it takes not to give in to the dog's instincts to be in control. My husband and I will be going to obedience training classes, both of us together. I want a dog with certain habits, it is up to me to see that it develops these habits. It is up to my husband as well and I think he is the weak link. My husband isn't a big on on discipline. For instance, I keep telling him I'm on a diet and he keeps on bring home fattening foods as "treats" for me. Donuts, pizza, pieces of pie. But I'm hoping that if he becomes educated about dog behavior, he will become effective. So obedience training classes for both of us.

Oh Lord, the little puppy will have a very short attention span.

I remember being in obedience training class and everyone's dog was behaving much better than my dog, even though I had practiced hard with her.

I hope I don't worry too much and forget to have fun.

San Fransico Magnets

I went to San Fransisco to celebrate Christmas. My husband, mother and I stayed for a week as guests of my sister and her husband. My sister put us up in a hotel across the street from their apartment. The apartment was in central San Fransisco so it was easy to walk to Chinatown and just about any type of store you could imagine. Mornings were free, because we didn't want to interrupt my sister's family, her husband slept late and she had her hands full with taking care of her three year old daughter and her six month old son. So mornings my husband and mother and I went walking, and it became my wish to visit the major museums in town and collect art magnets for our refrigerator at home.

The trip was difficult because of my illness. I loved seeing my sister and brother who just a month ago moved out to the area and is supporting himself as my sister's nanny. My brother is trained as a massage therapist and hopes to start his own business. He is looking at the challenge of moving from the East coast to one of the most expensive parts of the West coast as a challenge. He has a lot of belief in himself, at one point during the visit he said that he has the tendency to make his dreams come true. Not many people can say that this is the way they operate. He loves where he has found an apartment, just steps away from his back door is a wildlife preserve with miles of trails for hiking and mountain biking. My brother is very healthy and looks ten years younger than he really is. He is a survivor. I am not. I am fragile. I survive, but it is with the grace of others whom I am dependent upon.

Sometimes during the trip I felt overwhelming fear. It is hard to look at great art when you are experiencing anxiety. I was afraid of losing connecting airplane flights, I was afraid of not finding taxis, I was afraid of even saying something that would displease my sister. Sometimes the muscles in my upper back ached from all the tension that were in them.

But the days had a rhythm to them, a morning adventure upon the town, an hour or two of rest and a little more medication, then afternoons and evenings with my sister and her kids. I learned that I am not one to immediately bond with a child, it was the right decision for me not to have children. I do better with owning a dog. The energy my sister expends with her children is mind boggling, and she has a nanny and a night nurse hired to come into her home and help her. Some of the time she makes extra work for herself, she is careful with her children to the point of being neurotic about their feeding and sleep and general wellness and safety, but this doesn't harm the children, it just makes mental stress for herself. My sister was always a perfectionist and has the tendency to worry.

My sister asked that I come to California and live close to them. To fold up my life in Vermont and start a new one just so that I could see her family more often. I told her that when her husband becomes a billionaire I would do so. She asked if it was possible I do so just if he becomes a multi-millionaire. Its sweet that my sister loves me so much, but she is used to people marching to the beat of her own drum, that's what having money does to you. It makes you used to being in charge and getting your own way. Its funny. She has a three carat diamond on her finger that is so pure that in the sunlight it sparkles with all the colors of the rainbow, more big diamonds in her ears, and she wears old navy sweat pants and a coat that she got for $15 at a used clothing store. All their china is miss matched and her husband sleeps on the floor in their gigantic, penthouse closet. That's so the children and his wife don't wake him. When I visited my sister last I saw that on their bed they were using a tee shirt for a pillow case. The husband owns his own internet company and drives a Porsche. From one angle they are rich, from another angle they are poor. They are so busy living the height of civilization that sometimes they skimp, too busy, too distracted, too forgetful, and they endure the strangest situations.

My sister told me a story. The night nurse was telling her ways that she could be helpful. "Can I do this for you and can I do that for you?" was the way she was talking. And my sister said to her, "Will you just be my friend?" It was supposed to be a joke but in a way it was no joke. Her husband works such long hours that she rarely sees him and it is understood in their family that he earns the money and she takes care of the kids and the apartment. If it weren't for all the hired help my sister might be very lonely.

So I got a good view of another person's life and I concluded that I preferred my own life. I am certain that my sister feels the same way - she has always wanted to have children be the center of her life. And she loves diamonds. I was passed down the diamond earrings that her old boyfriend, fifteen years past, gave her - tiny things but real. I wear them all the time. They remind me of my sister. And they make me feel cultured. I can feel sophisticated in thrift store clothes and cast off diamonds. I guess so can my sister, even though she doesn't have to wear thrift store clothes.

Right now I am at a cross-road in my life. My therapist yesterday was horrified when I told him I had given up on my book project, what I spent the last year working on. Today I drew cats. They weren't cats from my imaginations, they were cats from pictures in books. They are part of a larger composition with two elegantly dressed women, one whose upper head is blown off, just intended to be a mass of smeared red. I can't seem to avoid violence in my artwork. Drawing cats was slightly boring, just compare, analyze, correct, compare again. Wish to work only in a limited sense from photographs because I get bored quick. I'm straining to go in a new direction with my art. Have to buy more art supplies. On my list; a pallet knife. Painting with a pallet knife will loosen me up. Wish for tiny details and big smears.

I'm going where the wind blows me. Working, but not with any long range plans. I'm praying, when I pray, for strength to walk this road that seems to be enveloped in fog. I would like, and I do ask God for this, for a style of painting that will sell. I would like to sell artwork. But I don't know if the talent is in me. More then this, I don't know if the fate is for me to sell my work. Some of what you get is luck, some of it is hard work. I'm starting, just barely, but I think I'm starting to ramp up to doing hard work.