Oh, God. This again?

 
The City of Townsville . . . is Being Evacuated!
Amazingly, Mia didn't wake up early this morning, so I've sneaked into our office and started writing this entry. Right into the Blogger template. Because when you're taking the day off work, you can be a little avant garde.

I thought I should catch everyone up with all the season(al) cliffhangers here at 'kaze central.

-- Thanks for all the well-wishes about my mom. I really, really appreciate it. She's now out of the "psych ward" and in a nursing/care facility until she makes some improvements and/or her coverage runs out. Which will happen in about 18 days, counting today. We're thinking long-term, so difficult decisions will be made in the next week to 10 days. And more passive sentences will be written.

-- Mia's awake.

-- The country girl won on American Idol.

-- I still have CDs to send out. From January. I know.

-- The "others" kidnapped Walt and blew up the raft. And there's a big hole in the ground which apparently leads to the second season.

-- In the next week, my band is playing at the local college radio station, playing a show in town, and playing a show in Pensacola.

Well, we're off to St. Augustine Beach for a long weekend of family fun. Not so fast there. It seems that the sister-in-law's cat might need antibiotics so everything is up in the air. The pet-friendliness of the beach house might be tested. Hopefully.

Anyway, barring any further fraying of plans, there will be lots of drinking and poker and pictures. Yes, pictures. Besides Michelle's digital camera, we'll be taking our Lomo and the quad-cam I got for Michelle from Archie McPhee.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 7:16 AM

 
The One in Which I Don't Scoff at Bipolar People Because the Resulting Karma Might Leave Me Jobless
Wow, we're up to about a week between posts now, huh? I'm having one of those blog-blocks where you think you're gonna post something brilliant and then you get distracted by . . . um, LIFE. Seriously, I was going to write about my sneaking out of work Monday to go see Revenge of the Sith and being terrified that someone would suddenly NEED me for something, or that Mia would get sick and no-one would be able to reach me with the cell phone off. Or how mom's week and a half in the behavioral health unit (read: psych ward) is coming to an end, and now it looks like we'll be placing her . . . somewhere, semi-permanently. I'm about to prepare to think about considering selling her van. And then her house. So, yeah, I was gonna blog all that shit, but then I went outside just 30 minutes ago to get the ladder so I could change our air filters when I heard a kitten-ish sound. I thought it might be Sabrina trying to sneak out into the carport but I went back to the screen door and she was clear across the living room. I wandered out of the carport and into the lowering dusk, there was a black kitten meowing his head off. I picked him up and held him for a second and then a SECOND kitten came out of the near-darkness. Fuck. So, I did what any good-natured friend-to-the-animals would do: I went inside, put some water and food in dishes, took the dishes out to the cats, talked to them for a few minutes, went back inside, turned on The Start loudly (to drown out the kitty-whining), and came back here to write this garbage.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 9:06 PM

 
FUCK YEAH!
The other day, I asked Mr. ADD when Team America (which neither of us had seen) was going to come out on DVD. He said “next Tuesday” and that he’d bring it over for us to watch after he bought it. (Big South Park fan, that guy.)

So, true to his word, he did and we watched it . . . in all of it’s perverse glory. I love how Trey Parker and Matt Stone can present both sides of an argument, make fun of everyone involved, and make you feel better about caring. I wish I knew how to convey a message that borders on didactic while including a marionette sex scene full of ass-eating, a golden shower, and a “hot lunch.”

Seriously, the movie was hit-and-miss, but when it “hit,” Holy Toddler Christ, we laughed ‘til we couldn’t breathe.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 4:54 PM

 
Blood
Look, I know that it’s a never-ending “rite of passage” for men, but it’s just so typically Monday how nicking myself shaving turned into a motherfucking bloodletting. Seriously, I’m surprised I don’t cut myself more the way I hastily go about raping my face with the Gillette Mach 3. Generally when I do nick myself, I do the tissue-clotting thing. I’ll sometimes forget to take it off and go into public with the telltale tiny Japanese flag stuck to my face and/or neck. But this morning, I was diligent and removed it while at home before I brushed my teeth. After brushing my teeth, I looked in the mirror and couldn’t help but notice the huge and growing river of blood moving toward my chin. What the fuck, FACIAL CARNAGE?

Of course, this morning, I had to interact with all sorts of people at Mia’s daycare or work while either actively bleeding or trying to get the blood to clot with my miniature tributes to Japan. "Yeah, nice to meet you. Look at the blood GUSHING OUT OF MY FUCKING JAW!"
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 11:05 PM

 
Here. Still.
I am.

I didn’t really want to bore you with fecal stories. Lots of ‘em. Because as a parent of a somewhat constipated, potty-training toddler, and the only son of a partially disabled and decidedly unconstipated mother . . . I have a lot to tell. But doing so would probably shatter the glass on your monitors. (And you flat-panel fucks can eat my ass. Okay, I’m just kidding. Mostly.)

I’m easily distracted, and have been busy at work. And scab-writing for Mr. Crunchy’s Reverse Survivor. And writing some other secret stuff. And participating in super-secret, bumbling legal dramas.

Don’t you worry, The Internet. I’m still standin’.

(yeah, yeah, yeah . . .)
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 3:40 PM

 
Freedom
I think. A lot. And worry. And obsess. And daydream . . . sometimes drifting off in the middle of a conversation. Or driving. I was sitting at a red light at 5:53 yesterday with my daughter behind me in the carseat, a light drizzle coming down, and Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” on the radio, and all I could focus on was the drumbeat. I mean, how did the one-armed guy play all that?

I want freedom. Not the “freedom” that we’re supposedly helping the Iraqis fight for, or the freedom to escape my immediate-family obligations (although not having to be my mother’s caretaker might be nice), but a free mind. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel put-upon and encumbered.

I was walking down the stairs at work a few days ago, and I had a very brief lapse into how my mind used to be (largely uncluttered), making me very aware of my surroundings . . . content. Very peaceful. Unfortunately, it lasted for about two seconds.

I know there’s probably a medication out there that could make me feel this way all the time. But I’m afraid of blocking this all out, like some mental packrat who doesn’t want to throw anything away for fear that he’ll need it later. And what if the mental summersaults I’m doing now will keep my mind limbered up if/when I hit my 70s and 80s? Maybe neurotic people are better-preparing their brains to fight Alzheimer’s.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 2:47 PM

 
Spirit-Breaking (with Urine)
We really had the best intentions. We went to Target Friday night and bought four packages of cloth potty-training pants for Mia (we now have a total of 12 pairs). Saturday morning, I put one of them on Mia before leaving for the park. While I was gone, she peed in them while sitting on Michelle’s lap . . . almost like peeing directly onto Michelle. Or so I was told. Michelle cleaned her up and tried another pair and, within ten minutes, she peed in those. So, it was back to disposable pull-ups.

We went to Target again Saturday morning to buy the “waterproof” trainers (vinyl outside and fitted leg holes . . . these sound dirty, don’t they?). I tried those with Mia in the afternoon while at my mom’s yesterday. She was playing on the couch while I was putting together my mother's piled-up newspapers for recycling. Then Mia announced, “I wan’ go potty.” I immediately thought, Wow, finally a step in the right direction.

Of course, she’d already peed. And the “waterproof” trainers had leaked. Onto the couch.

So, I think the score is something like Mia: 3, Parents: 0. (And Grandmother’s Couch: -1)

We’re gonna take a recess to reevaluate our strategy. And fortitude.
shaken and poured by Scott-san at 8:54 AM