Read on to see why this is timely…

Last night I regressed back to my inner five year old (while arguing with a ten year old, of course). We were having one of our too-frequent shouting matches, which lately seem to come up over the littlest thing, and I was doing a really shitty job of controlling my temper. The boys had been playing for a couple of hours in their room, and doing OK with it, but somehow my younger son was suddenly screaming bloody murder and clutching his eye. I went to investigate, and he said his older brother had thrown something at him.

(now, the details, aren’t really important. There is plenty of finger pointing when a couple of kids get too excited, of course, and this is nothing new at our house, I’m just sorta setting the stage here)

I asked him to apologize for hurting his brothers eye, and of course he said that he had been called names, or kicked or something - it was a long list of grievances.

I blew up. I said something along the lines “I’m sick of y’all screaming at each other and fighting all the time!” Or, I may have screamed it. Lead by example, much? One thing leads to another, and I soon have a boy throwing Playstation games around like frisbees (careful not to throw any of his favorite games, only others). The PS2, by the way, is a frequent point of conflict with me, this isn’t the first time we’ve fought over the toy.

So, I decide to be the grown up and grab the game console itself, and stomp out of the room saying “you won’t get to play this for a while!”

Ha! I showed him. Neener, neener.

Then, to show I meant business, I threw the thing onto the tile floor and watched little official Sony pieces fly all over the place.

Such. the. fucking. grown. up.

Things got quiet after this. I sat there, brooding, on the couch, rationalizing that they really do spend too much time playing games, and any time I try and limit it it blows up in my face, and how my wife has pretty much hated the damn thing since she bought it for me years ago, etc. etc.

Then a little later I did the math on just how big an investment we have, if games average $30 each we’re talking easily $2,000 in games, plus controllers and memory cards and a Guitar Hero guitar and - and - and - and…

Well, fuck.

Anyway, this is a long and rambling bit to show just how childish I can be, and just how far I’ll go to have My Way, and so y’all will understand when you hear my son scream that he wants to kill me. He’s learning from the best how to throw a temper tantrum.

Am so proud.

I say, and you think…

1. State :: of confusion
2. Lively :: opposite of deadly?
3. Valet :: parking
4. Traction :: four wheel drive
5. Official :: story
6. Red hot :: chili peppers
7. Powder :: keg
8. Replies :: are not necessary, but appreciated
9. Flagrant :: disregard
10. Tweet :: Bird

(This will be much more exciting if you imagine a rocking soundtrack, a couple of high-speed car chases, and perhaps Jessica Alba in a bikini tossed in. Or McDreamy, if you haven’t seen enough of Enchanted already, and you go that way.)

Anyway.

This morning, I opted to sleep instead of run, as I’m still a bit nervous pushing my legs / feet any more than I need to. That turned out to be a mistake, but whatever. Didn’t run.

Kids up and breakfasted and dressed about as well as can be expected, and off to school.

Check my work email from home because I’m going to the — (drum roll, car crash) — dentist! Don’t you wish you were me?

Off to the dentist, who says things are ok, but “we really ought to put a crown on that one. We’ll print you an estimate.” Oh, yay! Last crown was $700 or so (their estimates can’t be trusted). Um, no, I won’t make an appointment for that yet, I need to go sell a kidney or something first.

Then, home with the car. The car? She’s not running on all cylinders. Seriously, not. So I left it at home and walked… to the bus stop.

(cue gratuitous sex scene between McDreamy and Alba to keep the audience from running out for popcorn and forgetting to come back to this thriller)

I walked to the bus stop, and it’s nice out, and not even a mile away. I stood around for ten minutes or so, having apparently just missed the bus. Then, we’re on! An exciting ride (turns on two wheels, all that) and suddenly we’re at the drop-off. Where I walk a ways and catch — another bus!

About ten minutes later we’re off again, and actually caught some air over the railroad tracks (Steve McQueen’s ghost must have been driving) and ten minutes later I make it to work.

Total travel time, door to door - 1 hour. But I saved some gas, and my car may not have done so well anyway, what with the cylinder thing.

(cue rock music for closing credits)

I just wanted to pop in here and say that today, so far (needs a disclaimer), is pretty darn good.

I ran this morning, three miles - didn’t break any speed records, but didn’t feel hurt. I have a new pair of shoes, again, and they seem to be working OK. It was cool, freaky cool for almost May here, and only one car tried to run me off the road. Mental jukebox: CCRWRSWAM.*

I seem to have a spring in my step, I’ve managed to semi-placate thirty people this morning, so I’ll be allowed to stick around another day or two.

Maybe it’s the free donuts somebody brought to work. Maybe it’s because I got lucky last night. I’m banking on the lucky.

*CCRWRSWAM is catchy:

This week I’ve written a couple of NPR-ish posts about the evils of the world that bug me. And today, while I was driving back from grabbing a salad at lunch (to deal with The Fat), it struck me - I really do need to get over myself.

The world truly seems to be going to hell. I could provide links, or a list, like I have. Want some highlights? Housing market. Economy. Jobs overseas. Clinton won’t shut up so McCain’s gonna win this bastard. Gas prices. Peak oil. Food shortages. Climate change. Endangered wildlife. Endangered sex life. Getting the wrong fucking Sweeney Todd in the mail. Ozone or not Ozone. Hurricane season. Our stupid government (all of them). (really). Whether a 270 pound forty-three year old man was ever meant to tie on a pair of shoes and go running. Whether my car will make it another year. Whether my paycheck will cover groceries and gas and still allow me to be an ass and go to the movies.

See? All that shit. Fuck that shit.

It just went under the bridge. Oh, there will be more. Lots more. It will keep coming. But I’m sick of being a dick and wallowing over shit that I cannot control. If I can improve something - I will. I will try. (I know, Yoda said “There is no try, only do,” but then he supervised the building of Darth Vader, didn’t he?)

The world isn’t ending. At least, that’s what I tell my kids. (”Dad, I think the sun’s going to explode.” “No, honey, not today at least.”)

Maybe I should start acting like I believe it, too.

(I know it isn’t far, but the last time I ran 5K was over three weeks
ago, as I’ve been nursing hurt legs and bruised ego)

Am I? Am I denying it? Is it ’something else?’

Just heard this, nodding along…

Yay. I’m not alone. Get over it. We all have our tough days. Fuck me.

So, what do I do?

Ask for meds? (doctor: “sure! Here ya go. You’ll get fatter, but that’s okay, you won’t live much past fifty anyway, considering you are ‘morbidly obese’ already. Don’t worry about the loss of your sex drive, your wife will thank me. It’s not like you’re using it anyway. Might as well be happy about it all.”) Where does the extra $100 a month come from for that? Oh, I know - quit buying those $10 jugs of wine.

Here’s one - exercise! Go out, breath the fresh air! Yeah. Like that’s worked a lot. (me: “1,000 miles of running and still FAT. Oh, and I can barely walk today, again, thanks to the two miles I dared run this morning. Stoopid fucking body.”)

How about eat better! Yeah, well, I could do that. Put that one on the list.

Sleep more! No, all I do is sleep. Not sure when “more” could happen.

I’m sick of myself. Everyone else is, too.

Gotta get over myself.

Fuck this shit.

I’m trying to lighten the fuck up. How am I doing?

marriedtothesea.com

have a nice day..