Or: If I wanted to be a yo-yo I'd tie string around my waist.
I could say I went home yesterday a.m., filled the I.V. rig with Hersheys semi-sweet chocolate sauce and fell into a bottle. I'd be a liar.
First of all my thanks goes out for putting up with an idiot wallowing in a sty of dispair. I don't mind my ups and downs. Sometimes I just wish the frequency would be a little more drawn out.
I get home yesterday a.m. expecting the wife and mutant pigs to be still asleep (let them sleep as late as they want on weekends). Not the case. They are all up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and grinning like some disappearing cat. I'm told I can go to sleep if I want to but I'll just be awakened in a little bit as they go out the door. I settle down with the paper.
Half an hour later they return, bearing gifts. And here I'd thought they'd forgotten. Not so. The wifes' timetable was thrown off by things not in her control.
Little bit about my wife. She can be the kindest, most loving, sweetest, gentlest, affectionate lifemate anyone could want. Then again she can be the most cruelest, conniving, devil-spawned she-demon that ever sprang from hades. When she combines the two, watch out.
From my boys I got the continuing releases of Babylon5 tapes (any bablers here, eat your heart out) and what pleases any male, power and non-power tools. Then the wife takes me outside.
Sitting in the driveway is the new Commute Car. A Toyota Corolla with power everything, cruise-control, a 10 slot CD player attached to a great sound system and 20 new CDs to choose from. Yes, it was at about this time that I felt like a total asshole.
The day only got better as it went on and I rocked out to Hendrix, Electric LadyLand, All Along the Watchtower as I drove into work tonite.
Jon Armstrong The Space Ranger
And now I know what has happened to all my overtime pay.