Madame's Little Angry Blue Monster
I manage some very Tourette -ian outbursts and a really foul temper even with substantial medication. I don't manage it well or gracefully.
Just recently I decided to do something about it on my own, sans guidance and just nuts enough to amuse myself. I gave my unreasonable fury a body of his own and, boy howdy, is it a show.
He's two feet tall, like a undersized dragon with a long skull and adolescent spines down his back, enormous clawed feet, tiny little clenched hands with little pointy taloned fingers to obscenely gesture with.
Appearing very weighty for his size like a file cabinet, he is a matte deep royal blue with big yellow bulgy eyes, very white sharp teeth and a bright pink pointy tongue. He is very ill behaved, even for a monster. Especially for a very small annoying monster.
When he start up with a tantrum or bringing up recriminating baloney to push the shame button and start up the unpleasant chorus in my head, I get to shush him and give him a time out. I get to be the adult.
So wherever he is in the prelude of full on violent tangent, he twists up his jaws as if the unspoken expletives are blowing him up like a balloon and stomps off, hissing under his breath until a green fizzy cloud follows his feet, deliberately dragging his nails into the floorboards of my consciousness. In the corner is a low wooden box with a fuzzy pink blanket. He crawls in and yanks the blanket up over his head. I watch it vibrating with unspoken rage and peevish disappointment. That taken care of, I go onto other things and forget about him.
If he gets up and wanders off, I don't see him but we must repeat this dance at least twice a day and he is just such a odd little figment I don't mind so much.
If he get worse this week, I am going to imagine him up a pair of leiderhosen and alpine hat all his own. Where the hell did this scenario come from? Is this anything like parenting?
Just recently I decided to do something about it on my own, sans guidance and just nuts enough to amuse myself. I gave my unreasonable fury a body of his own and, boy howdy, is it a show.
He's two feet tall, like a undersized dragon with a long skull and adolescent spines down his back, enormous clawed feet, tiny little clenched hands with little pointy taloned fingers to obscenely gesture with.
Appearing very weighty for his size like a file cabinet, he is a matte deep royal blue with big yellow bulgy eyes, very white sharp teeth and a bright pink pointy tongue. He is very ill behaved, even for a monster. Especially for a very small annoying monster.
When he start up with a tantrum or bringing up recriminating baloney to push the shame button and start up the unpleasant chorus in my head, I get to shush him and give him a time out. I get to be the adult.
So wherever he is in the prelude of full on violent tangent, he twists up his jaws as if the unspoken expletives are blowing him up like a balloon and stomps off, hissing under his breath until a green fizzy cloud follows his feet, deliberately dragging his nails into the floorboards of my consciousness. In the corner is a low wooden box with a fuzzy pink blanket. He crawls in and yanks the blanket up over his head. I watch it vibrating with unspoken rage and peevish disappointment. That taken care of, I go onto other things and forget about him.
If he gets up and wanders off, I don't see him but we must repeat this dance at least twice a day and he is just such a odd little figment I don't mind so much.
If he get worse this week, I am going to imagine him up a pair of leiderhosen and alpine hat all his own. Where the hell did this scenario come from? Is this anything like parenting?
I have decided not to name my little blue monster.
Comments