Almost Fully, Surprisingly Painlessly, Extracted From My…. Ass!
Another month. Another newsletter pulled out of my worn ass the night before deadline. OK. It will, in fact, be merely moments before deadline when all is said and done and I am printing out piteously undersized .pdf’s to painstakingly edit in final form, with ‘dese almost 40 year old, and oh so friggin’ weary, eyeballs.
I have been sequestered. Since 5am this morning. I have all but ignored kids and dog. I write this post just to avoid leaving the squallor that has become my workspace- an office could never really look like this- which says something about what I believe is out there waiting for me.
I can hear them. Two of the children. Oh, wait. I hear only my dear Zip. He has an uncanny talent for verbally imitating automatic weapons. Is that an AK-47? I do believe that beyond the sound of duelling machine guns (pppshhhhhwaaaa! Gisssshhhshhhhhhnnnnnng!) I cannot hear youngest child. She is alive, of that I am certain. Asleep. I know it. Company for American Idol. Me and Fidgey McGee.
Now it’s quiet. Where are the comforting sounds of battle, dammit? The whistles and whinnnnies of grenades?
It’s getting dark. The children are out there and there are no lights on. I work by the glow of my monitor. By what possible glow could they be functioning? Oh, wait. A moment. There it is. A Fidgey. A screech. Aaaaaaaaaaaaah. A boy’s mischevious giggle. All is as it should be.
Children alive, awake and accounted for and probably due to be fed. As will be the eldest boy and his most fatherly companion as they return from swimteam. Must leave the sanctuary of dark, disgusting but most comfortiest hovel. Cook chops. And cheesebuns. And for novelty’s sake. In this miserable cold when what the body truly cries out for is gooey, melty cheese and a pot of meat, I will prepare a salad.
