daddywhumpus is at the State Fair with the babysitter, gearing up for the Jackson Browne concert at the Grandstand. I am at home, too tired to go. I would have been no fun. Indeed, I have been very little fun lately. Too tired/mad/dumb/busy even to write anything here. Now, I am sitting in an empty house, listening to the timer on our 1951 Tappan Range tick onward to pizza time while I sip a Guinness. The boy is asleep, though reluctant to let me leave the room. The cats are watching the evening-time street movements. So when I say "empty," I mean that I am the only human grown-up present.
One more minute.
Unlike my meat, I like my pizza to have a little toast-y-ness around the edges.
The "should-do" list is long. The "want-to" list may be longer. I am doing neither, though it could be argued that sitting here, typing with Guinness and waiting for pizza is a "want-to," I never actually wrote it down, so it does not count.
Sometimes, there is a sublime wonderful-ness to a frozen pizza. I make a mean home-made, but this is the perfect night for "heating" as opposed to "cooking." I try to keep a couple of frozens in the freezer for just such a time. It's the end of the meteorological summer, though Minnesota has been pretending it's Autumn for a while now. It's 68 degrees out there, and last night, I was actually cold in bed: the cabin we were in was 56 degrees this morning.
Yes, cabin. Pete wanted to whisk me away for a night off. And as we were down at my parents' house, it was the perfect time. The "Ga's" could watch The Boy, and I could sleep. Which I did. Though I had trouble falling asleep, and I woke up several times. It was not because of the boy: I was not worried about him, though I did miss him. I am just crap at sleeping, in general, and it's been a bad week for it.
I read a whole crappy paperback, "Outbreak," which is so crap, it's actually written from the movie of the same name and not the other way around. The whole time, I was wishing it was "The Hot Zone," which was a much better read, being based in truth. Both books are from the Ebola or Human Liquefying Virus craze of the mid 1990's. By the time I was done with that, it was 10:00, and Pete, who had been asleep for a few hours, had to pee, so I read some Harry Potter. Contrary to what some may think, books on constitutional originalism do not put me to sleep.
The boy was fine. Pete was more emotional about being away from him than I. It was lovely to see him when we returned, and he was happy to see us, bestowing unsolicited kisses back and forth on our smiling faces.
Then he got stung by a yellow jacket and screamed most of the way home.
The two incidents were unrelated.
Be expecting back-dated updates, though I may just add them and backdate them at the top of the entry, because I know I hate scrolling. And if I hate it, so should you.