LIVING IN THE PAST: FEEL MY DISEASE

As I was (and still am) fighting a pre-flu, spending the middle part of each day coughing, coughing, and coughing some more. I officially endorse Cold-eez cold preventative. I'd be bed-ridden and puking by now if it weren't for its astonishing effectiveness.

Much of the week was spend prone on my back, sleeping or watching movies. As my dad's dog Tyler has come to be used to a certain standard of lifestyle, he spent about two-thirds of my couch-time standing or sitting a few feet away, staring at me expectantly. If I were to stagger away for a snack or a bathroom break, Tyler would immediately leap onto the couch. This dog has not had a hard day in his life. Even when he had surgery years ago, he recovered with the aid of a young vet student who even went to far as to sleep with Tyler in his crate. You've got to be fucking kidding me, right? So, that is Tyler.

My father will likely go unrecognized for his immense contribution to developmental psychology, despite answering conclusively a question that eluded Ericksen and Piaget, and is posed to classes annually: nature vs. nurture? Tyler is a yellow Labrador retriever, raised by infancy by my father into an indolent, albeit loving, lap log. He will decline to "fetch" a ball or toy thrown more than a few feet from him, only pursuing the objects at a close range if he wants to play with them. There are members of his breed hunting, guarding and guiding the blind.

I remain the sanest of my siblings. That distinction was slightly wobbly during my bouts with medications over the past couple of years, but life's march has worked its magic on my sisters' stability, and they spin into farther orbits with each passing day.

Originally composed on 12/29/2004. I miss you, Tyler.