Our Mission Statement
The moon is just a sidewise smile or an anime wink in the sky. God's watermelon. I see at in the small hours of the morning when I let out the dog and stand buck on the porch, waiting for her to pee. I can see Jupiter setting, just now touching the tips of the treetops. The dog snarfs around at something. I call her in. She takes her time, collar jingling in the dark. Bitch.
Our Guarantee To You
I'm troubled by my daughter. She is experimenting with drama, and has become prodigiously quick to invoke whimpers and crocodile tears all of a sudden when presented with a situation or question she'd prefer to dodge. She will, if pressed, bring herself near to hyperventilating while insisting woefully that she has no power over her feelings.
I've been gentle and patient, attempting to guide her through meditations and deep breathing, and I've also, at different times, been sharp and made it clear I'll tolerate no such snivelling nonsense. Both approaches seem equally feckless.
The worst aspects of this behaviour are amplified when she is behind on rest, which seems to be a normal state of affairs these days -- her ability to self-calm at bedtime is poor, and she resists outside attempts to reshape her routines. Often, she is still awake in her bed when I come up to sleep. She wants to talk about dinosaurs or faeries or David Tennant, and she wants to do so at a mile a minute with the words spilling over one another in a mad rush.
If I were more American, I'd find somebody to sue about it. You know, somebody really culpable. Like a music genre, or an angel.
She tearfully confessed to me the other week that she felt that she was "nothing" because her friends at camp could read better than she could and they had their own MP3 players. I assured her that we would make great strides in reading this year, to which she replied that her main priority was to have the MP3 player issue addressed.
Is she developing severe emotional problems, or am I just being played?
Girls, man. Girls.
Service Priorities & Returns Policy
Littlestar is, amongst her other duties and diversions, back at school picking up two additional undergrad courses before starting a new masters programme next year with a bend toward becoming an adolescent psychology and family therapy ninja. The courses, offered via Intertubes from Athabasca University, include in their respective packages all materials and textbooks required for completion. All the student is expected to bring is their brains, their time and their diligence.
Seeing how easy it all is (easy as in "straight-forward" not easy as in achievable without effort), I also want to get in on the game. Having always regretted abandoning my degree programme some fifteen years ago, I want to undertake a little reschooling of my own once Littlestar has cleared the system and the tuition debts are paid off.
This is exciting to me in a way that a university education was not the first time around, when my principal concerns were becoming financially independent of my parents and establishing a career. This time it could be all about the learning, instead of being largely about finding enough to eat and getting laid.
I have no interest in continuing toward an MFA, however. While my projected major remains up in the air, it will definitely be something in the sciences. (I've had it up to here with the humanities. Oh, the humanities!)
After that, I will probably become an evil scientist and enslave all mankind under the threat of my unimaginably horrible doomsday devices. Tremble, neurotypicals! Your devotion to episodic television dramas and autotune can't save you now!
Our Unique Value Proposition
The office bought me an iPhone, and pays all the bills for me. This is nifty beyond expression. Probably if I weren't already deeply in love with Littlestar I would marry my iPhone, and our babies would be little cyborgs with camcorders built into the wrong side of their heads who need to eat constantly or they fall into a coma.
Rights & Indemnities
I've got a brand new hat.
The moon is just a sidewise smile or an anime wink in the sky. God's watermelon. I see at in the small hours of the morning when I let out the dog and stand buck on the porch, waiting for her to pee. I can see Jupiter setting, just now touching the tips of the treetops. The dog snarfs around at something. I call her in. She takes her time, collar jingling in the dark. Bitch.
Our Guarantee To You
I'm troubled by my daughter. She is experimenting with drama, and has become prodigiously quick to invoke whimpers and crocodile tears all of a sudden when presented with a situation or question she'd prefer to dodge. She will, if pressed, bring herself near to hyperventilating while insisting woefully that she has no power over her feelings.
I've been gentle and patient, attempting to guide her through meditations and deep breathing, and I've also, at different times, been sharp and made it clear I'll tolerate no such snivelling nonsense. Both approaches seem equally feckless.
The worst aspects of this behaviour are amplified when she is behind on rest, which seems to be a normal state of affairs these days -- her ability to self-calm at bedtime is poor, and she resists outside attempts to reshape her routines. Often, she is still awake in her bed when I come up to sleep. She wants to talk about dinosaurs or faeries or David Tennant, and she wants to do so at a mile a minute with the words spilling over one another in a mad rush.
If I were more American, I'd find somebody to sue about it. You know, somebody really culpable. Like a music genre, or an angel.
She tearfully confessed to me the other week that she felt that she was "nothing" because her friends at camp could read better than she could and they had their own MP3 players. I assured her that we would make great strides in reading this year, to which she replied that her main priority was to have the MP3 player issue addressed.
Is she developing severe emotional problems, or am I just being played?
Girls, man. Girls.
Service Priorities & Returns Policy
Littlestar is, amongst her other duties and diversions, back at school picking up two additional undergrad courses before starting a new masters programme next year with a bend toward becoming an adolescent psychology and family therapy ninja. The courses, offered via Intertubes from Athabasca University, include in their respective packages all materials and textbooks required for completion. All the student is expected to bring is their brains, their time and their diligence.
Seeing how easy it all is (easy as in "straight-forward" not easy as in achievable without effort), I also want to get in on the game. Having always regretted abandoning my degree programme some fifteen years ago, I want to undertake a little reschooling of my own once Littlestar has cleared the system and the tuition debts are paid off.
This is exciting to me in a way that a university education was not the first time around, when my principal concerns were becoming financially independent of my parents and establishing a career. This time it could be all about the learning, instead of being largely about finding enough to eat and getting laid.
I have no interest in continuing toward an MFA, however. While my projected major remains up in the air, it will definitely be something in the sciences. (I've had it up to here with the humanities. Oh, the humanities!)
After that, I will probably become an evil scientist and enslave all mankind under the threat of my unimaginably horrible doomsday devices. Tremble, neurotypicals! Your devotion to episodic television dramas and autotune can't save you now!
Our Unique Value Proposition
The office bought me an iPhone, and pays all the bills for me. This is nifty beyond expression. Probably if I weren't already deeply in love with Littlestar I would marry my iPhone, and our babies would be little cyborgs with camcorders built into the wrong side of their heads who need to eat constantly or they fall into a coma.
Rights & Indemnities
I've got a brand new hat.
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