| Topic: |
Sociology > Depression |
| User: |
"John" |
| Date: |
15 Sep 2004 04:05:24 AM |
| Object: |
On the kitchen floor |
x-no-archive: yes
Last night was very bad for Maia. She woke up at around 11:30 and was up
till nearly 2:00. Crying--wailing, really--dozing off and wailing again.
Unconsolable.
When I got home today, she was sitting on the kitchen floor in Kristina's
lap, hanging onto her. She had been there for 15 minutes, Kristina told me,
terrified by a reflection of light playing on the ceiling. The reflection
was coming off a glass fixture hanging in the sunlight.
I sat down next to them, and Maia pointed up at the ceiling. "Nothing," I
said, twisting my hands in the local way that signifies, "empty,"
"finished," "gone." "There's nothing there." But she wasn't convinced.
She kept pointing.
So I stood up on a step ladder so I could touch the ceiling to show her that
there was nothing there, and that heartened her some. I picked her up so
she could touch it herself--it's something I often do with her because she
enjoys it--but she wanted no part of that today.
Still, it was better after I touched the ceiling and survived. I turned on
the light to try to swamp the reflection and that helped a little more.
This school thing is stirring up something deep in her that I don't
understand.
.
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| User: "Whiskers" |
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| Title: Re: On the kitchen floor |
15 Sep 2004 04:53:31 PM |
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On Wed, 15 Sep 2004 09:05:24 +0000, John wrote:
snip
She had been there for 15 minutes, Kristina told
me, terrified by a reflection of light playing on the ceiling. The
reflection was coming off a glass fixture hanging in the sunlight.
snip
Perhaps there was a similar 'light' somewhere that she stayed "before" and
was unhappy then?
--
-- ^^^^^^^^^^
-- Whiskers
-- ~~~~~~~~~~
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| User: "John" |
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| Title: Re: On the kitchen floor |
15 Sep 2004 08:40:00 PM |
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x-no-archive: yes
"Whiskers" <catwheezel@operamail.com> wrote in message
news:pan.2004.09.15.21.53.30.515546@ID-107770.user.uni-berlin.de...
On Wed, 15 Sep 2004 09:05:24 +0000, John wrote:
snip
She had been there for 15 minutes, Kristina told
me, terrified by a reflection of light playing on the ceiling. The
reflection was coming off a glass fixture hanging in the sunlight.
snip
Perhaps there was a similar 'light' somewhere that she stayed "before" and
was unhappy then?
Dunno. As good a guess as any.
.
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| User: "wombn" |
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| Title: Re: On the kitchen floor |
15 Sep 2004 04:50:17 AM |
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On Wed, 15 Sep 2004 09:05:24 GMT, "John" <noone@home.net> wrote:
x-no-archive: yes
Last night was very bad for Maia. She woke up at around 11:30 and was up
till nearly 2:00. Crying--wailing, really--dozing off and wailing again.
Unconsolable.
When I got home today, she was sitting on the kitchen floor in Kristina's
lap, hanging onto her. She had been there for 15 minutes, Kristina told me,
terrified by a reflection of light playing on the ceiling. The reflection
was coming off a glass fixture hanging in the sunlight.
I sat down next to them, and Maia pointed up at the ceiling. "Nothing," I
said, twisting my hands in the local way that signifies, "empty,"
"finished," "gone." "There's nothing there." But she wasn't convinced.
She kept pointing.
So I stood up on a step ladder so I could touch the ceiling to show her that
there was nothing there, and that heartened her some. I picked her up so
she could touch it herself--it's something I often do with her because she
enjoys it--but she wanted no part of that today.
Still, it was better after I touched the ceiling and survived. I turned on
the light to try to swamp the reflection and that helped a little more.
This school thing is stirring up something deep in her that I don't
understand.
I think in time, she'll learn to trust you two. Because you're there,
steady, steadfast and will always return.
--
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And yet, somehow, I'm considered far right wing...
http://www.digitalronin.f2s.com/politicalcompass/questionnaire.pl?page=printable_graph&X=2.75&Y=0.46
This, otoh, is an extremist:
http://www.digitalronin.f2s.com/politicalcompass/questionnaire.pl?page=printable_graph&X=-8.62&Y=-7.64
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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| User: "John" |
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| Title: Re: On the kitchen floor |
15 Sep 2004 08:39:28 PM |
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x-no-archive: yes
"wombn" <wombnhearmeroar@comcast.net> wrote in message
news:614gk0l0r4plackvdl4qksuop6s9rui7l1@4ax.com...
On Wed, 15 Sep 2004 09:05:24 GMT, "John" <noone@home.net> wrote:
x-no-archive: yes
Last night was very bad for Maia. She woke up at around 11:30 and was up
till nearly 2:00. Crying--wailing, really--dozing off and wailing again.
Unconsolable.
When I got home today, she was sitting on the kitchen floor in Kristina's
lap, hanging onto her. She had been there for 15 minutes, Kristina told
me,
terrified by a reflection of light playing on the ceiling. The
reflection
was coming off a glass fixture hanging in the sunlight.
I sat down next to them, and Maia pointed up at the ceiling. "Nothing,"
I
said, twisting my hands in the local way that signifies, "empty,"
"finished," "gone." "There's nothing there." But she wasn't convinced.
She kept pointing.
So I stood up on a step ladder so I could touch the ceiling to show her
that
there was nothing there, and that heartened her some. I picked her up so
she could touch it herself--it's something I often do with her because
she
enjoys it--but she wanted no part of that today.
Still, it was better after I touched the ceiling and survived. I turned
on
the light to try to swamp the reflection and that helped a little more.
This school thing is stirring up something deep in her that I don't
understand.
I think in time, she'll learn to trust you two. Because you're there,
steady, steadfast and will always return.
Left work early today, to pick her up at 2:30 with Kristina.
Mrs. An (an older, single Korean woman who volunteers because she likes the
contact with the kids) was sitting next to her mat, stroking her legs. The
other kids were asleep. So I guess she had woken up and cried some as she
does.
But she seemed fine.
She was happy to see me. Her teacher told me she was doing fine--assertive,
physically active, smart--and the Principal also said she was doing fine.
But she also added that she is going through a lot of transitions and so
will go through a lot of changes.
Made me feel better about it all to see that she was smiling and hugged the
people who look after her when we left.
.
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| User: "harakiri" |
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| Title: Re: On the kitchen floor |
15 Sep 2004 05:35:56 PM |
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post traumatic stress! big strong Dad there to fix the problem. i remember
as a kid asking my dad to check outside because i thought i saw giants and
flying saucers. he said he would go check it out. i had no doubt about
being secure. i remember babysitting a girl Maia's age and she didn't like
the ceiling fan. spinning around like it's gonna snap off and fly across
the room. she grew out of it.
"John" <noone@home.net> wrote in message
news:oBT1d.8788$YU2.2366@twister.socal.rr.com...
x-no-archive: yes
Last night was very bad for Maia. She woke up at around 11:30 and was up
till nearly 2:00. Crying--wailing, really--dozing off and wailing again.
Unconsolable.
When I got home today, she was sitting on the kitchen floor in Kristina's
lap, hanging onto her. She had been there for 15 minutes, Kristina told
me,
terrified by a reflection of light playing on the ceiling. The reflection
was coming off a glass fixture hanging in the sunlight.
I sat down next to them, and Maia pointed up at the ceiling. "Nothing," I
said, twisting my hands in the local way that signifies, "empty,"
"finished," "gone." "There's nothing there." But she wasn't convinced.
She kept pointing.
So I stood up on a step ladder so I could touch the ceiling to show her
that
there was nothing there, and that heartened her some. I picked her up so
she could touch it herself--it's something I often do with her because she
enjoys it--but she wanted no part of that today.
Still, it was better after I touched the ceiling and survived. I turned
on
the light to try to swamp the reflection and that helped a little more.
This school thing is stirring up something deep in her that I don't
understand.
.
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| User: "John" |
|
| Title: Re: On the kitchen floor |
15 Sep 2004 08:40:46 PM |
|
|
x-no-archive: yes
"harakiri" <m.d.wittenberg@att.net> wrote in message
news:gt32d.372844$OB3.70376@bgtnsc05-news.ops.worldnet.att.net...
post traumatic stress! big strong Dad there to fix the problem. i
remember
as a kid asking my dad to check outside because i thought i saw giants and
flying saucers. he said he would go check it out. i had no doubt about
being secure. i remember babysitting a girl Maia's age and she didn't
like
the ceiling fan. spinning around like it's gonna snap off and fly across
the room. she grew out of it.
I'm sure it's something like that.
Nice story.
<:o)
"John" <noone@home.net> wrote in message
news:oBT1d.8788$YU2.2366@twister.socal.rr.com...
x-no-archive: yes
Last night was very bad for Maia. She woke up at around 11:30 and was
up
till nearly 2:00. Crying--wailing, really--dozing off and wailing
again.
Unconsolable.
When I got home today, she was sitting on the kitchen floor in
Kristina's
lap, hanging onto her. She had been there for 15 minutes, Kristina told
me,
terrified by a reflection of light playing on the ceiling. The
reflection
was coming off a glass fixture hanging in the sunlight.
I sat down next to them, and Maia pointed up at the ceiling. "Nothing,"
I
said, twisting my hands in the local way that signifies, "empty,"
"finished," "gone." "There's nothing there." But she wasn't convinced.
She kept pointing.
So I stood up on a step ladder so I could touch the ceiling to show her
that
there was nothing there, and that heartened her some. I picked her up
so
she could touch it herself--it's something I often do with her because
she
enjoys it--but she wanted no part of that today.
Still, it was better after I touched the ceiling and survived. I turned
on
the light to try to swamp the reflection and that helped a little more.
This school thing is stirring up something deep in her that I don't
understand.
.
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