Sunday Scribblings

This week's theme is bragging.

I am a master of masking the truth of the situation. Pain is hidden
behind toothy smiles; failure, canned statements of positivity;
destruction, shoulder shrugs; embarrassment, self-ridicule; hatred,
baseless compliments; attraction, outward indifference; etc. The key
to my existence is to be the same thing to the same people everyday,
regardless of the cost and/or consequence. It saves me from having to
explain my daily ebbs and flows to those I would rather avoid. I am
the definition of even keeled.

Time marches on

There is a back story; it is a long drawn out explanation of missed opportunities and nothingness. But an excuse it is not; we are adults, we should have known it would culminate in this—conversations riddled with pain, tears spilled on pillows not shared, and voids of human contact. For all its failings, it was a conscious decision made in a time long since passed. My response is withdrawal, yours is confusion; regret is a constant. Despite our best efforts, life continues, and, outside of the stated goal, we get carried away with ourselves. . . .

Future greatness

I see very bright things in this little guys future (I am a proud, bragging father).

Disaster of miniscule proportions

One trip each to Kmart, grocery store, and Wallgreens.

Four cans Hormel Premium Chunk White Turkey, one can Chef Boyardee Overstuffed Beef Ravioli, one can Chef Boyardee Mini-Bites, two cans Hormel Chili with Beans, one Dinty Moore Big Bowl Beef Stew, one box Original Club Crackers, half block of brie, one jar Goober Grape peanut butter and jelly mix, and one loaf white bread.

Six two liter bottles of water, one two liter bottle of Gatorade, ten beers, three bottles of wine, and a pack and a half of cigarettes.

Eight D batteries, six AA batteries, twelve AAA batteries, two 9 volt batteries, three flashlights, two headlamps, one camping light, one pack of candles, six boxes of matches, three lighters, propane grill BBQ with spare propane, three fully charged IPODS, and a computer to track the impending doom.

Half-day of work on Wednesday, and a “snow” day on Thursday.

Shutters closed, windows locked, drains cleared, mop ready.

Last supper of pizza and sangria with friends.

Then wait, and wait, and wait. . . .

Wake up to the bluest sky known to man, dry floors, and four messages informing me that “snow” day is canceled and my presence is required in the office.

Roll into work an hour and a half late with some explaining to do.

My first “hurricane”; fuck the weather people.

Sunday Scribblings

This week’s word is Forbidden

Dear Diary,

Dad is the greatest! I know I didn’t always feel this way. That I have spent a good deal of time complaining about not being allowed to attend school, play sports, make friends, or even leave the four walls of this house, but I see now that I was angry about nothing. As it turns out, father has been hand-picking me friends, and storing them in the “forbidden” room in the basement. He does it at night when he thinks I am asleep. By my count, he has already chosen nine boys my age. He must be planning a big surprise, because he hasn’t said anything about them. He is really good at keeping secrets.

I can’t wait for the big day, I only hope that it happens soon, and that all the boys like me; I have never had friends before.

Okay, I have to act like I am asleep now, or he will not be able to go tonight….

I love you dad!