HOLY NECRO-RESPONSE, BATMAN!
“I believe the dead (discussion thread) has arisen”
But then again Stephanie, as a fellow Kraken, you are likely as mercurial in your perception of time as many of the rest of us.
That is . . . except when baking! ;) But then baking is an exercise in Sensing . . . as is (largely) sex. Two pastimes that help stretch (get your mind out of the gutter ma’am) our abilities and round out our personalities.
I’m at my most “ME” when I’m living in the future — designing it, running what-if scenarios to game the most efficient and greatest-good outcomes, and engaging the primary, most trusted and most powerful feature of my personality, my Introverted iNutition — which is, from the (MBT)Indicator perspective, pinned against the stop at the max end of the gauge.
When I’m “living in the moment” which many proclaim as the end-all-be-all of content existence, I’m likely about to spiral into depression or at best some serious ennui. Except, of course, when fucking or baking . . . or flying kites . . . or hangin’ with my border collie.
Observation: I have almost always had a dog. My Aunt Myra ran out ON THE DAY I WAS BORN and bought me a puppy. (Seriously passive-aggressive move there, huh? ENFJ Aunt to my ESFJ Mom. (Yes, it certainly can be a challenge. There’s a “Children of ESFJ Parents ‘support’ group on Facebook. It’s half tongue-in-cheek; many of the posts are a riot! (but I digress. ;-))) The year was 1970 and Irish Setters were still quite in vogue (at least in my Aunt Myra’s mind, she having been a admirer of JFK) and so her first nephew had to have the best.
While beautiful to behold, especially while running or splashing though water . . . I would say “Darby” was among the most mentally umm . . . pedestrian . . . dogs I’ve ever met and certainly ever owned. Inbreeding will do that. [note to self: write a full story about Darby one day.]
Back to my main thought — my dog keeps me in touch with the here and now. He REQUIRES my attention at regular intervals. As a result, I have to periodically check in with the land of Sensory Reality. Not a bad thing. When the black dog of melancholy does strike, my beloved buddy gives me a reason to get out of bed and face the poorly planned and even more pitifully executed world (as I’m wont to see it when forced to live in the NOW.) He also keeps me on my Behavioral Psych A-Game. When you have a border collie, you can’t assign his shortcomings to a lack of brain power. Fuck-ups are NEVER your dog’s fault due to his intellectual limitations. 9/10 you did something stupid and he’s just reminding you of it. And we certainly benefit from that kind of furry doggo comeuppance from time to time. (There are few others we’d accept with such grace. But since dogs are incapable of mendacity, we’re just forced to smell the coffee — or worse — from time to time.)
Dementia took hold of my grandmother near the very end of her life, and a stroke sped things along to the inevitable end. However, even as she was loosing her marbles, she made a profound observation and shared it with me. “A boy needs a dog to teach him how to love.”
And she was absolutely right.
I wrote about that . . . sort of . . . in the essay below.
Perhaps you will find something in there that is thought provoking or rings true with you.
Pardon my stream-of-consciousness Kerouac missive as a response to a response to a response to your story . . . but I’m speaking in non-linear, recursive pure INTJ . . . and I imagine you’ve no trouble following along. (And it will drive the ESTJs absolutely nuts.)
Merry Christmas and happy baking, doggo-ing, and fucking in the coming year, fellow Kraken-lady.
Best Regards,
e — Lord of Fruit Flies & Protector of the Maniacal Laugh (ELFF, PLM)
Oh yes . . . the promised tale:
https://crossingenres.com/six-lifetimes-of-love-8c0665bc3ba0
