Day of Abuse

Ironically, this caps off my Day of Abuse theme right here. I get ideas about what to write the entire day, and the moment I sit before a blank screen, my mind goes into a catatonic state and nothing's hanging out in there. But I'll do my best.

I woke up this morning, thinking that the pain that was in my neck should be a little better, but in fact it was actually worse. The day before, I had suffered from a sore neck, either because I slept funny on it and it's all banged up or my wife karate-chopped it in her sleep, thinking my neck was a snow dick. It literally feels as if someone had been dancing on my neck, so I took my wife's ibuprofen that had 800 milligrams of kick to it. She has all the best drugs.

The drug doesn't kick it till mid afternoon, but meanwhile a little boy set out his agenda for the day. Bully Daddy and try to make him cry.

Zoe has her appointment today, a 6 month checkup that she's a little late for. The whole family went this morning, and 15 minutes into the Wait-A-Thon I decided to take Alex out into the lobby so he'd have a little more freedom, and less chance to hurt himself with all the medical supplies he was finding in the cupboards. So out we went, and he started to climb from chair to chair, and was looking rather ambitiously at the diabetes phamplets on the end table. So I strategically sat between the end table and the other chairs, and he started pitching a cranky fit.

Here's the deal about the Alex at this "phase", as we'd like to think of it. Because if we didn't, we would go mad. His phase right now, is throwing a fit. He would do that dramatic crying, with tears of pure sorrow streaming from his cherubic face, and occasionally he would be so darn sad that his legs would fail him, and he would collapse into a heap of sorry flesh, waiting for us to either A) let him do whatever he wanted to do, but can't do because of safety and/or stupid reasons, or B) feed him some kind of fruit, which usually distracts him from what he was fussing about.

Here's the deal about me. I'm one of those people don't appreciate seeing other parents let their kids throw public tantrums in the store, and the kid's obviously acting like a little brat. Throwing a fit, causing a sense, and shattering a otherwise Muzak-accomplied silence in the store into a crying, sobbing, dramatic episode. I feel guilty and shameful when that happens, mostly because I'm low-profile and like to keep to myself. Furthermore, kids really shouldn't act like that. They're kids, I know, but I'm not one of those people who let their babies rip a store apart and create a mess, and then throw it off by saying, "Oh, they're just kids."

So I took the boy outside, then back inside, and finally into the car whereby I sat in the same car, talking to him with a walkie-talkie. An hour later, my wife emerges with Zoe, who has an otherwise perfect bill of health, other than her fused vagina. Apparently, it fusing back together, and if we don't religiously apply some hormone cream on her, she'll require surgery. So, yes, Daddy's having to do that once in a while, and it's a bit strange.

The rest of the day wasn't too bad. There were minor little things whereby I would slip on ice, drop a piece of glass edgewise on my foot (don't ask), and inhale a fair amount of bleach while cleaning the mold off the bathroom ceiling. My sinuses are clear now! Woohoo!

We also managed to watch "Shaun of the Dead" on DVD, and it's brilliant. Almost the right amount of each of it's advertised elements, (ROMZOMCOM, or Romantic Zombie Comedy) though I've come to conclude that I really don't like the third act of most zombie movies. Like "Dawn of the Dead", just about everyone gets offed without any sentiment in the third act. As much as I know that it's comes with the genre, I still think that movie formulas should still apply, namely, don't off all your characters without compassion for no reason.

Tomorrow the Satellite guy is coming to rearrange our freakin' lives, and B and M are scheduled for their baby induction. Busy Busy Busy!