Thursday, May 04, 2006

working title goes here

You know what's really weird? I think in blog. Oh, I know I update once per millenium, but because I'm a scarce updater who's also anal retentive, I find myself composing entries in my head because, in reference to that anal retetive thing, I should be writing here in order to make this [insert a word here that isn't 'blog' because I feel kinda weird referring to this as a 'blog' because, in my opinion, 'blog' should be reserved for use by plumbers and gynecologists and the like] not suck so monumentally. The entries I write in my head aren't too shabby either, it's just that when I sit at my desk, crack my knuckles concert pianist style, and prepare to put it all down, my jaw goes slack and I end up with no fucking idea about what it was that had been composed so studiously in my head.

I think what happens is, I think in blog speak, and then I begin thinking in blog speak about what I was thinking, then I keep thinking about what I was thinking about, and then I keep thinking about what I was thinking which was about what I was thinking about thinking, and then I keep thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking, and with all the thinking that gets thought about, I forget what it was I was thinking.

It's funny how, and maybe it's only me (or maybe it's the anal retentiveness)(which is probably code for OCD anyway), if I find myself doing something for a period of time, I start to think lijke what it is I'm obssessively doing. Per essempio, the Rubik's Cube. I couldn't get that fucking thing out of my head for weeks, for not only was I too dumb to solve it, I was anal retentive...uh, okay, OCD enough to not want to put it down, so I spent hours upon hours thinking of what moves would go where to solve that fucker. And then my thinking began to take on the structure of Rubik's Cube shifts. Gah, I can't explain it, but the same thing happened once when I spent way too much time scrolling down pages on the internet. My thoughts started to scroll.


Re the Rubiks' Cube: I spent forever trying to solve that bitch, then one day I came home and the fucker was all wrong and my system for solving it (which obviously worked for shit) was totally not there any more. After regaining consciousness, I asked my mum what the fuck happened to my damn cube, though what I probably said was 'um, excuse me, mum...?' while tugging my forelock and trying not to make her mad (and there it is, another journal entry right there that will likely never get written, along with the ne'er to be written entries about how I realised I'm like that with her over the last however many weeks it is between me being thirty five weeks pregnant and her leaving a week or two ago), and she waved her hand in the air and told me that some five year old visited while I was not hunkering over the damn cube, well on my way to solving that bastard out, so she gave her my cube to play with. So yeah, way to go respecting my shit ma, but of course all I said was 'Oh'. I never touched that Rubik's Cube again, by the way. Ever.

And look! This has turned into a tragic entry about my issues, weeee!


Daniel is being a bit of a pill today, having woken up with a sniffle which, culpa mia, so I'm pandering to the little diva with grace. Oy though, when he's not being held (which today is a combination event of me holding the wriggly little sucker and him trying to rip of my ears), having deemed the bouncer to be worthy of a hand to brow tantrum today, he's on the floor and low grade whining to be flipped over onto his back so he can turn himself back onto his stomach so he can get stuck and start the grizzling to be flipped onto his back again. Every three words or so actually. Dude could do with a winch, and I could do with a winch and bottle of vodka.

With the weather getting cooler and half the population of this city being stupid enough to go out and about saying "Yay! Look at me! I should be home in bed but I'm out! Because I'm Tough! When what I really am is a Fucking Idiot! Because I'm dripping cold germs all over the place for everyone to pick up and smear on their nasal membranes so that twenty billion others can get colds too and do the same thing! And so on and so forth! Yippee!" (fuckers), I bought some saline drops and a nasal aspirator in the event the lad caught a cold. He did, so this was the day to, as per the instructions on the pack, lay the boy down with Miss Kitty (relax, it's a stuffed toy)(to whit, thankyou Hart) under his shoulders so his head would lean back, allowing me free access to gently place two to five drops of the saline down his crusty little nostrils, then leaving him in this postion for one to two minutes, before gently introducing the flexible tip of the aspirator into his nose to suck out the boogers.

Apparently the test baby for the author of those directions was in a medically induced coma because how it actually went was: Lay the boy down with Miss Kitty under his shoulders, watch him flip his head from side to side to side to side to side to side to side to side to side to side to side to side etc, randomly squirt a gallon or so of saline in the general direction of the boy's face, place foot on boy's chest in an attempt to leave him in that position for, aw fuckit, where's the aspirator? Watch the blur that is now the boy's head. Scratch own head before squinting eyes for focus. Zoom in like a hawk on a field mouse, with the aspirator in hand and a determined look on your face. Make contact with, I dunno, a chin? Give up, knock back a tequila, and enlist the neighbours to join you in a Mexican Wave when the boy sneezes out his body weight in boogers.

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