...and will probably regret this tomorrow. But then, what's life without some regrets, eh? I have been so controlled, so fucking politically correct, so "good girl" that its giving me a solid case of identity crisis. I am not used to keeping my mouth shut...or having conversations inside my head, which is pretty much what I have been doing.
I can be SUCH an arsehole. People who matter, I ignore and others.... well, I behave like one of those silly dogs that will wag their tail and be friendly with everyone. the hungry for affection sorts.
Once, when passing through this colony -- my regular route -- I saw this pomeranian that was tied to the balcony railing with a rope. Not much area to move, not much to do anything. That bloody dog used to bark --- that irritating pomeranian bark -- at everyone. I used to think that dog was really nasty. Then one day -- and on more days frequently -- I saw the dog's owner belt it. Really belt it. The dog wouldn't yowl, it would just whimper while the belt -- and sometimes a slipper or a boot -- made its fur come out in tufts.
At other times, I saw the same owner really hug and pet the dog. The dog would have its tail between its legs while his master stroked him. The dog was always expecting another beating. Even when his master was cooing to him.
Sometimes, I hate feeling like that pomeranian. Some of us, you know, it's better for some of us to realise that we are meant to be pomeranians. Not labradors that are supposed to be the most people-friendly dogs. I think I am a pomeranian.
Did I ever tell you that at one point in my history I had 14 dogs in my house? Majority pomeranians. Hah. Should have known then, but what to do? I was a mere 6-yeard-old then... Papa was posted in Agra then. On Prithviraj road.
The street was known for robberies. The burglars thought that people who had dogs were rich...they were using dogs to protect their riches.
haha. My mother had me and a new born baby...and a plaster on her right leg. Osteomalitis. Her bone marrow dried on the right leg shin, that piece of bone was removed. Poor Ma. And 14 dogs to look after... Papa didn't help. Someday I shall ask him about it...
Now....my parents have NOT told me about uit.....but Ma has heart problems. My bro told me...my parents think i dont know... hah. They always try to 'protect' me... whatn good has it done Ma-Pa? when did you eever succeed in that???
So now they are waiting for further ECG tests...all the while assuring me that everyything is all right. Oh. I am NOT a fucking child. Thankfully, Papa knows that I use "fuck" a lot.
Haha. He was quite disappointed when he had discovered my new, improved vocabulary.
Ok Never mind. it's now getting progferssively harder to speell. so ishall desist.
we shall end with quote of the day: "If you leave your dog for a man, it nwill always come back to bite you."