it's the little things that kill...

both of my sons have therapies at ctu. this is a place where specialists work with special needs kids, you know, kids with speech problems, or who need physical therapy, or lots of kids who a severely handicapped in one way or another. all the time i spend there watching the other parents who have children with more problems than my own makes me think two things: 1) there but for the grace go i, and 2) i admire those parents' courage, patience, and diligence. i, frankly, couldn't fucking do it. but yesterday i was there, in the waiting room, and overheard one of the therapists telling one of the parents what a great job their son was doing, how much that child had improved. i thought, you know, there should be an audience of a thousand people in black-tie giving a standing ovation right now. the thought choked me up. so i shared my pride, i guess you'd say it was, with the mom after the therapist was done. it's the little things that make it better.

or worse. later that same day, sleep deprivation and "that time of the month", as my wife and i call my monthly funks, caught up with me. the house was a bit of a mess, every time i tried to tidy, the kids would mess it back up. then i thought i'd take a break and practice some bass, and my main axe, that i put together myself from parts i bought on ebay is suddenly not working right, and i started thinking about how i can never seem to afford the things i really want, in the kind of shape that i'd like. build and build. pick and pick. itch and itch. the kids are whining for more cookies, or a different movie, more of this, more of that, and WHAMMO! i lost it with nos. 1 and 2. screaming and hollering, and i made them both cry, which made me feel like shit, then we shared kisses to make it better, and i started crying. it was a complete and utter sardonic household meltdown.

work sucked, and i was nearly in accidents twice, the people were crazy, the fog was thick, the roads were icy. i was in one of the most pissy moods i have been in in years, and my wife was drunk when i came home, and people were over, and i was kind of an ass. the long and the short, i went to bed.

had to get up early to take pepper to get spayed, then home trying to keep the boys from bothering hungover mom, i took them for a long drive on the peninsula. when we got back, i was getting them out of the car, the world was spinning and gyrating and i was fighting to get them in the door, and, apparently, according to eyewitness accounts, i got them inside, stood there for a second, and crashed full-out on the floor. yes, i passed out for the very first time in my entire life. it was an extremely bizarre experience. and my wife and the two friends who stayed cause they drank too much last night thought i was fucking around. i woke up with my wife on top of me and my kids hanging over me, and my belt undone.

a nap and a meal later, and i'm better.

and so now i just have one question: if a drunk girl at a party informs you a few times in random conversation that she swallows, does she dig you?

talk to you soon,

darth sardonic