Category Archives: Narrative

Colin is doing the most amazing thing now.

Normally, he wakes up in the middle of the night, say 1-2am and he gets a diaper, a bottle of milk, then he passes out. If you’re good, have your bottle pre-prepped, and can work without turning any lights on, you can be in and out and back to bed in 30-45 mins. It’s a science. Your pure motivation for the speed, efficicency and attention to detail is the peace in knowing that you will be able to get back into bed and sleep some.

…

Lately, Mr. Man has been waking up at around 5am. The alarm goes off at 6 and everybody’s up to get ready for school/work.

Lyn and I usually alternate. This morning I got up with him and as he nodded off smiling at 5:53 I knew he was doing it on purpose.

Not only can he now claim the prize of forcing you to physically get out of bed, he can claim the psychological victory of the soul-crushing removal of the promise of any return to bed.

He is truly a mastermind. And, he’s still asleep right now and I’m at work.

Well played.

Sometimes I sit at work all day and think about al the stuff I’m gonna do that night when I get home. Ideas for freelance work. Chores. Projects.

The day wears on and it totally saps your juices. By the time I get home, I’m limping. I give the kids some quality time before they go to bed, ’cause – really – that’s the only time I get to see ’em during the week.

Sometimes I still haven’t eaten dinner at this point. I got home late and everyone else ate. Reheat something. Sort out the day’s events with Lyn. touch base on the ‘need to do’s’ and upcoming appointments and the ‘didja pay the?’s’.

Then I sit down in front of a computer again and try to find it.

Wrestle with slow dial-up downloading of email and files. Interruptions of little feet combined with requests for drinks of water. The volumes of time I thought I had slip away somewhere.

Eventually Lyn shuffles off to bed. I’m left and the house is quiet.

I can hear North snoring from all the way down the hall.

I look for it and there’s nothing there.

I’ve been working on a bullshit postcard for 2 hours with no forward progress whatsoever. I keep telling myself, “It’s a fucking postcard”.

The pacing, the talking out loud. The circling of the kitchen, wandering, gazing, as if somewhere underneath something is that piece of momentum I need. A physical, tangible chunk of inspiration.

Sign on to check mail and find more edits or revisions from someone that doesn’t make sense or know what they’re doing.

If you’re one of my clients reading this, it’s not you, it’s everyone else. Your jobs always go flawlessly.

Then comes the sobering realization that I have to get up in 5 hours. It will take at least an hour just to get to sleep. I have to get up at 6:30, but Colin will be up at 5:45 and he won’t be interested in going back to sleep, no mater how many bottles I give him.

But it’s quiet right now. The clock on the wall is ticking rhythmically.

I put my head on the table and listen to it tick. The house has never been so quiet.

I close my eyes.

It’s starting to snow outside.

I’ll be waterboarding at my place soon. No, not with detainees, just myself. I’ve got my board all waxed up and as soon as the crests start to peak, I’m hitting the beach in my basement.

See, that’s where the water will be. Today we’re getting 40 mm of rain on top of the 6 feet of snow we have. In addition, it’s supposed to reach a balmy 9 degrees C today. If that’s too much metric in one sentence for some of you, I’ll sum up by saying everything is WET. And melting.

And consequently will soon be flowing into my basement. The sump pump seems to be ‘iffy’ on keeping it out. Doesn’t want to pump water. I think the outlet hose is frozen against the foundation. Or the pump has perhaps given up the ghost. Not sure yet.

But there’ll be water.

It’s really much easier when you can just accept it. Just know that it’s going to happen and nothing can be done about it. It’s a peacefull state of mind. Zen if you will.

Just make the best of it. I’ll be waterboarding. Grooving to the swells in my basement.

At least I can admit it, which is apparently more than some governments are prepared to do.

I’m no torture fan, but I know it goes on. I know it’s been going on for centuries. Perpetrated by many countries/governments/regimes/religions etc. etc.

I’m not stupid. I’ve seen enough Jerry Bruckheimer movies to know this is true.

So why does the U.S. Government think I’m stupid? Why would they deny or dance around the issue?  How could they not realize that is insulting me – the very person who put them there (well, ok, for sake of arguement, roll with me) and has placed faith in them?

Really, by treating me with all the kid gloves that you would use on a 2nd grader, you’re looking like idiots.

Jesus man. Just own up to it. Yeah. Some people will freak out. Some will threaten legal action, but at least you’ll have your credibility.

Watching grown men, in the highest levels of government, with access to more information than you or I will ever see, feign ignorance to the whole subject, under oath, in front of their peers and their country really just makes me sick.

If you can’t stomach or at least attempt to justify what actions you’re taking, then don’t you shouldn’t be doing it. And if you’re going to do something (anything) then at least have the balls to stand up and explain your actions, however misguided they may be. If you thought it was the right thing to do in the first place, you really wouldn’t need to hide or divert attention.

How can this be the greatest nation of the world, when it’s leaders won’t even stand and defend their actions? This is the Rolling Stones giving substance abuse advice. This is Britney Spears giving parenting tips.

Do as I say, not as  I do.

Nobody is buying that shit anymore.

Not even when we’re told it’s ‘in our best interest’. Damn man, it just doesn’t fly. We’re not 2nd graders.

We’re 12th graders that are going to kick your ass behind the gym after school.