Boundaries

I, Poppy, welcome you to become codependent with me. Drink too much? Go ahead and have another. Gamble? Double down. Are you a sex addict? I will lie at the foot of your bed. I welcome emeshment and triangulation. Just look at my relationship with my mommy. I agree with everything she says and tell her that yes, she deserves all of that cake; in response, she speaks for me and tells me what I am feeling. I have no boundaries.

Except for the baby gates. When Duncan was around, he'd just crash through them. He was like my own personal battering ram, though he only did it for himself and I enjoyed mostly collateral benefits. Now they are here and he isn't. They are at the top of the stairs, the bottom of the stairs, and the entry to the kitchen. Often, when the Hairless Puppy is eating a food that I am not allowed to have, say raisins or grapes, I have to be locked in the kitchen. I lie on the floor and look through the bars at the raisins and think, "What's a little kidney damage when you can have the pleasure of gobbling up a food so fast that you don't even taste or chew it?"