talking to toys...

I have spent a lot of time talking to a lovely little stuffed wolf doll. It was the most significant thing, I think, I have ever received from him.

Fluffy Wolf represents the sociopathic, unfiltered voice in my head that even I have to modulate outside the confines of the company of witty folk. In the stark, but padded, halls that I spend too many hours a day, I find myself speaking in a stilted, meaningless babble. The words are coherent, but the truths are not.

In a way, talking to a stuffed toy is cathartic in a way a therapist could never be. Of all the incredible hurt and rejection a person as remarkably outsider-ish could receive in one lifetime, it could never really compare to that a concious stuffed toy would suffer.

Fluffy Wolf keeps me sane in a way that no drug or therapist ever could. The saddest thing that could then happen, of course, is if I should end before setting him on with someone else. After all, human lives are far shorter than that of a simple toy.