ow shit my ow

What a week it’s been. I just haven’t been able to get my speed up this week, with sleep, writing, or much of anything. I have no idea how I’ve been as a dad, partner, husband, or guy who cleans the dishes- let alone at work. It’s just been… a great big heaping bowl of “meh”. With low energy.

Today was supposed to be the New Start, the recharge day, and I kinda want to quit. After a Very Good night’s sleep (with Sam staying in his own bed until 6, nursing for five minutes and then coming off to find me) followed by a dash of writing this AM, so I was ready for a New Week.

Bettie had a thing to go to late morning, so after making her and Sam breakfast, I took Sam for a walk to our bank to get some cash- for various reasons, neither of us have a working ATM Card (and no, we aren’t the “Hipster Grifter”, for one thing we hate everybody too much to pretend to like them and get their $$$)- regardless…

It was a sweaty walk and Sam didn’t feel like doing it on his feet, but rather on Dad’s back. So Dad, being me, carries him- and wishes he’d brought the stroller. Some miles and gallons of sweat later we’re back at home, but my back has gone out- or is hovering on the verge of going out- Sam is exhausted, redfaced and sweaty and is asking to use the bathroom- and Bettie is out driving around, looking for us.

I know I am King Luddite and all, but fine, fine. I did not wish for a magical cell phone to harness my spouse in. I just hoped she’d find us and get to her Thing on time (I think she did, I hope she did).

Find us she does, just as I’m realizing that I’m developing blisters, and off she goes. Sam uses the john and the day continues on- everyone is where they should be.

Except for Sam, who very sweetly asks to play his video game a bit earlier than we usually let him… but, you know what? It’s Saturday. And I am having trouble bending over at the waist, so rather than try and entice him to play with me, I set him up with the wii controllers, Lego Batman, and his bowl of popcorn.

So he’s happily chilling up there, I lay down on my back and borrow my wife’s laptop to get some writing done.

I also do a few chores around the house that don’t involve bending at the waist- so all is good, AND I feel semi-accomplished.

Other than the back pain, all is well.

Then, while carrying my darling son a glass of water, I stub my toe. I stub my toes a lot. But this time I manage to (Nova, don’t read this part) shave a chunk of skin off my little toe (Nova, you can read again)

How, you may ask, did I manage to do this? On the edge of the goddamn laundry cart, which lives in our living room waiting for a time when we put clothes away. It hates me, and I being a gentleman return the favor.

Anyhow, there is some bellowing, some one-legged hopping, some Tim Roth impersonating (“Llaary? It hurts real bad Larry,”), and finally I manage to FIND the goddamn medical kit (hidden under a pile of swimming suits, Bettie’s sexy dress, and some diapers that we have no current use for)

Clean off and bandage the hideous wound…

As I finish, I say calmly and out loud: “Goddamnit Sam, this hurts a lot, and your dad could use a little sympathy…”

And what happens? I hear the Danny Elfman theme pause as Sam surely puts down the controller…. and then I hear him stuff a mouthful of popcorn in. He crunches down, the game un-pauses…

Yeah. I think I’d like a beer, please.

Ah well. At least I managed to get about a page written.

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