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Where I come from the saying is "Just don't call me late for dinner."

On this issue, you are farther ahead than me. At least your dragon has shape and a name. Since I read my mother's journals, I've quickly turned my head in order to not see the dragon. I would imagine that he's quite horrifying with nasty things sticking out of him ready to jab, cut and make me bleed. But, as you offered, if you stand behind me, I'll try to take some quick looks at it and either give it shape of give it a name.

I can see your dragon, the way you discribe him. hehe He is kinda cute, isn't he? He wouldn't happen to be purple, would he?

Just as a point of reference: "What say we each start by giving the "monster" a big hug.... I know mine has been waiting a long time... " In my lingo, the way I have identified facets of myself, I would identify this part of you as your wounded inner child. You might call it pshycho-babble. But I've seen "my wounded inner child" at different ages. The abused three year old, the broken eight year old, and the hypervigilant, combative if the need arises, teenager. You felt the point of her sword the other day, and for that I'm sorry, but very glad that instead of fighting back, you came back with open arms. It's incredible to me!

There is still quite a bit of reticence in looking at that monster, in trusting you, etc., so please be patient with me, ok?

<font color=blue>This above all: To thine own self be true. --Shakespeare</font color=blue>