Quite often when Athena or I are off on a mind-journey, we’re dancing. Not physically, as in the body moving around much, but in our minds…………we’re dancing all over the place. It’s really cool………Athena loves to imagine me dancing all over the place…..breakdancing and handstands and flips and stuff, none of which either of us can do outside our imagination (at least, not yet, learning some of those things might be of interest to us at some point. )

In fact we were doing that yesterday. Dancing……….somewhere else.

Ivan

The book gets really awful in the middle, not awful writing but sad and almost unremittingly sad. I had to skip over a bunch of pages because it had become so much of the same, though the story was moving foreward and I think the detail was necessary to give the complete picture it just was too much for me. At the point I started skipping over pages I was thinking, “you people need to stop helping this kid examine and examine and examine his abuse.” The place where I picked up reading again the author was saying the same thing about himself wondering if they had done DJ wrong by helping him go over and over and over the experience. DJ was obsessing or perseverating on the abuse and his abandonment.

I don’t know how that could have been dealt with differently, but I’m afraid that the parents were a bit too much in love with psychotherapy type stuff. I don’t know how they could have moved DJ on to another topic since the abuse was so awful and the fact that he was adopted and in fear of being abandoned again was such a big thing (as it would be to any kid, I imagine).

I have to go back and read some parts I skimmed through, about FC (the second to the last chapter) that looked good.

I think people need to be warned that book might stir up PTSD or bad memories or abandonment issues or whatever. DJ was badly abused, it’s described in a respectful and minimal way by his dad and DJ’s comments about it are featured quite a bit.

What do you call dancing, the social variety or the wild flings to music that my somewhat time wracked body can’t do anymore.

I used to need space to dance. Last time in public unless you count autscape where I attempted to out Anderson, Ian Anderson, was at a college prom, where as well as dancing Astaire like, but sans his elegance with my cane in my top hat, white tie and tails (literally) I also entertained the floor with my chair between my teeth spinning routine.