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Like many children of the mid-70s, Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak, has been one of my all-time favorite picture books. As a kid I really identified with the main character, Max, who "makes mischief of one sort and another" and gets sent to bed without his dinner only to journey off into imaginary lands of monstrous wild things. Of course this got me thinking about my own wild things, my own shadow sides. While navigating the course of a new relationship these undesirable sides of myself have been "roaring their terrible roars and gnashing their terrible teeth" a little more than usual. My personal wild thing has been becoming easily offended and overly imaginative in a dooms-day sort of way. Needless to say, this childish, primitive, and undeveloped side of myself is nothing I am proud of.