August 5th, 2008

ozarque figure

Personal note; chaos...

I am very much enjoying your comments and responses discussing the article by Nicholas Carr, and am reassured by the fact that so many of you disagree with the claim he makes. Thank you for all of your posts -- and I apologize for not participating more actively in the discussion. As I had expected, both the Barnes & Noble book revision and the Huge Emergency-Rush Project have fallen in on me at the same time -- plus I have the three September/October newsletters to write. I'm a bit overwhelmed -- well, let's make that a lot overwhelmed -- and it pleases me to know that I don't also have to worry about the Internet monkeying around with my brain. I badly need my brain right now, and I for sure don't need it rewired and redecorated.

It also pleases me that I have a respectable reason to take one day off this week; my husband's 73rd birthday is coming up, which means that with a clear conscience I can go with him to Fayetteville to look for his birthday present and celebrate with a birthday dinner at the Red Lobster. I am so looking forward to that.

Our little dog is still punishing us for kenneling her while we went to Conestoga, and has chosen a particularly devious method -- she won't eat at all unless I hand-feed her. This, I don't need right now; it takes a lot of time, and I don't have it to spare. It's humbling to have to live with a dog that has so much power. [I was warned; right in my dog book it says, "Neurotic little white dogs love to be hand-fed."] Nevertheless, she's going to doggy daycare while we celebrate George's birthday, and as long as she continues to weigh less than six pounds I will at least have the power to see to that, whether she likes it or not.

I do know the prevailing wisdom, yes: If I don't handfeed her, she'll get so hungry that she'll eat, and that will teach her. But when we brought her home she had eaten almost none of the food we'd sent with her to the kennel, and had lost several ounces of her six pounds, and she ate nothing whatsoever for the next twenty-four hours, at which point I gave in. This is a dementedly stubborn little dog, heavily into guilt-tripping and behaviorism. Sheba, Skinner-dog; me, pigeon.