Oh me oh my.
I’m officially on hour twelve. At least another four to go. Girls will be home soon and…
Oh. Look at that. You just traveled another three hours into the future. That was a three hour paragraph break right there. Thats exactly what that three hours felt like, too. Like for real, to me. Raising twins alone and working full time is like having the beginnings of dementia. You just, like, go into a cognitive coma and then you wake up multiple hours later wearing different clothes and in an entirely new location. It’s amazing…ly awful, actually.
We’re now ten, eleven, twleve minutes into hour fifteen of my day.
So. It was such a long day because I got to help at the Hospice residence again tonight. Honestly? Aside from the thirty minutes in bed watching My Little Pony with the girls when they got home, best part of my whole day.
The patient who’d just arrived a couple of weeks ago was still there. I enjoy hanging out with him. He’s cool just listening to Johnny Cash and watching me color.
He wasn’t quite as froggy as two weeks ago but he perked up when I got excited about his record collection and we did a little talking and a little sitting quietly and not talking. He told me about the coloring books they’d had in his assisted living residence.
He perked up even more when I told him they’d stocked a little coloring kit earlier this week. He felt like he needed some artwork for his room, I guess. Either that or he was just keeping me busy. Either way, I wound up just coloring for him while he watched and listened to music, and while he ate, and while he watched M*A*S*H.
Sad episode. Henry’s plane went down. Radar cried.
It was fine.
Then it was home to be here when the girls got home from visitation. I stopped for a chicken because I realized as I came off the hill into town that I hadn’t eaten all day and was starving to death.
The cats stared at me while I picked it clean. I served them first, of course.
The gray one? Me. Bill? When he was two months old he ate an entire half-thawed chicken breast the size of his whole body.
I was pretty sure he was a gremlin in disguise m still not fully convinced he isn’t.
Anyhow. After tearing apart the carcass of a small domestic fowl I ate and the girls came home and that brings us to My Little Pony (which we totally call my little jabrony in my house btw).
Come on. Who wouldn’t vote for an episode where a delicious Samoan pony taught the gang how to smell what the rock is cookin’?
I’d vote the shit outta that.
For the record.
But I’d also vote to just watch him stand around in that shirt forever and call me roody poo too. So.
I had this conversation with the girls tonight.
One final anecdote, before I dismiss you.
I’ve been kinda jazzed the last couple of days.
No, literally, you guys.
Because another one of my favorite 90’s musical genres came back to my mind. Out of nowhere.
I love the whole big band swing revival of the late 90s.
The Squirrel Nut Zippers rocked my world. Of course there was Brian Setzer and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.
But my favorite in the genre was always the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies. They’re bananas.
So great. Their best album is Boop-A-Doo. Far and away. Their covers of Let’s Misbehave and Puttin’ On the Ritz rock me hard.
So I’ve been sort of half swing dancing everywhere I go the last few days. Sorry in advance if you encounter me before I get over this little obsessive stroll down memory lane.
I’m pretty goddamn obnoxious right now. So.
But I have learned that I can tell a whole hell of a lot about a person by how he reacts when I call him “daddy” in a 40s speakeasy Chicago accent while pretending to smoke my pen.
Janet Snakehole style.
Only the cool ones keep talking to you once you do that.
That’s how I weed ’em out, see?
Which, as I proofread this nonsense, explains most of my dating history actually. So. That’s… concerning.
Okie doke. That’s Friday.
As you were.