(via msnovember)

So my intent to not reveal the ADD to professors et al at uni lasted exactly two weeks.

I’m gonna inform the appropriate so-and-so tomorrow.  I’ll never get through it otherwise.

Yay/boo.

What if I told you that I hated myself?

But what if, directly after, I told you that I love myself?

Which do you find more shocking?

Wondering what it will take, exactly, to eject me from this cozy space and into the wet, wild yonder of the small town in Massachusetts where we currently reside inside a space of a week, for the purposes of participation in a wedding, all of us, presence requested, I sit on this crooked futon with legs askew and think, what, what will compel me up and into the exterior?  I recognize, logically, the need to assist my child in DOING something, SOMETHING, giving him a THING to do, a project, a task, a focus, OR.  I wonder: do I?  Must I needs give him a thing?  Or can he discover the thing himself?  While I, selfish, focus on my own needs, like showering, soon, like ingesting my lukewarm cup of brown pooled caffeinated drink, like listening halfway to my son sing-songing his way around this new fresh space? 

“Don’t you wanna be evil?  Don’t you wanna be good?  (now flowing into regular speech) Huh?  Why did you say that word?  That guy is not controlling his anger!  Don’t go in dark shadows!  Ouch!  It’s not so good!  As being final!  And off!  (there are small cars involved)  Looks like there’s gonna … something … roll and get you… NO!  THERE’S NOT!  POW-POW!  POW-POW-POW!  (more sound effects of similar quality)  How?  Can we get?  Out?  Ah-HA!  Beep!  Beep-beep-beep!  (Etc)  Boom!  Boomboomboom!  Pow-pow!  We need a jump to jump!  Woohoo!  It’s not so - WOOOAHHHH!  *crash*  This … urg … is … heavy.  Here we go!  Oooh-wee!  I did a good jump, master, now let me turn!  Ooh, good job!  I thought you were right.  You were — ahhh!  Ooh!  That! Was not a really-turn.  WATCH OUT!  GET BACK UP!  WOOOOOAHHHH!  *crash*  You did that.  NO, MASTER!  I am a master inside of that.  THEN WHY DID YOU EAT HIM?  Cars?  What if cars are real people?  They are NOT real people.  Get something that starts with car.  Ca- ca- CAR.  Yes.  We are a car.  Wait!  You’re not making any master sense!  Yes!  We are too, bro!  That was awesome, BRO!”

Eh.  He’s doing fine for now.  Although we may need to have a conversation about “master” and the implications of his listening a little oftener than necessary to the classic records of the Fifties, “Let’s Pretend.”  Lotta “master” references we probably need to be more attentive regarding.

Probably.

Why does it always feel like the people in my life are, without exception, more mature than me? Regardless of the setting or circumstance?

Don’t answer. It’s rhetorical. Which you knew because you’d arrived there before me.

Bastard.

Sunday roustabout

All of a sudden it makes me terrifically sad to think that moms and dads often use their “me” time to work out. Whatever happened to “me” time being about sitting around on a couch or dilapidated porch, staring at thin air? I miss underachieving attitudes of that ilk.

Shoe-Shoe Train