I've recently decided that my mid-life crisis (a few years prior to my big 4-0 which is par for my course, impatient, that's me) has it's very own soundtrack. A theme song if you will.
Remember that old Talking Heads song - probably more famous for the crazy ass video, than the actual song. Once In A Lifetime. David Byrne, the lead singer dressed up like some Buddy Holly impersonator, doing crazy hand jive-esque moves. Sweating - profusely.
I fear that is me Dear Reader. I'd BLOG more on it, but I'm still in my hole, so to speak, as in sick. Plus, if I BLOGGED it here for free, you wouldn't buy the book.
Until I BLOG again...same as it ever was...
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Word Up!
The Little Warrior, who is fast approaching the 14 month mark, has recently started getting a handle on language. Sure, he's been able to say Momma for months. Bye Bye. The usual, go to baby words. Nothing cuter than Wyatt saying Momma, but let's be honest, Momma is pretty easy. It is also a word he uses for many things, like food for instance. A word with many meanings.
What interests me about word usage is when it clicks for them, on their own. Unaided. When they get it. Put it together. It truly is amazing. Watching them go through the coo and screech stage. On to the da da da stage. Then the simple parrot stage. Then, probably my favorite, the (not sure what the real term for this is, thus my stuism) tower of babel stage. This is the stage when they appear to be talking to you, you can see in their eyes, that they are carrying on a conversation but it's complete gibberish. In fact, it sounds like they are speaking in a foreign language.
I always thought it would be ha-ha funny to call up a Chinese restaurant for take-out and let the Boy order in this crazy talk. See what sort of items we'd end up getting. Hard to get them to talk like this on cue though, I guess I'd have to record it, which sounds to complicated, but I digress - not even the point of this BLOG. The point.
Tower of babel stage leads to where we are at now with Wyatt. The first words used in context stage. Wyatt's first word to me in this mode was shoe. He can't say it very well. Sounds sort of like shhhhhhhhhhhoe. To much sh not enough oo. But, more important than his pronunciation is the fact that he gets it. He knows that he is saying shoe, and that it is a shoe, that's what you call it. That it is the word for it.
He said it to me the other morning, out of the blue. We were doing our standard early morning (I need to get the Boy a paper route, he wakes up at 5:30am pretty much every day!) Dad and Lad thing. He was walking around the front room, and he turned and looked at me and said, "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhoe." I took a drink of my coffee, to give myself time to deduce what he was saying, I replied, "Shoe?" He smiled at me, and said, "SHHHHHHHHHHOE!" To prove his point, he walked/ran over to where we keep the Boy(s) shoes in the front room (on top of a stereo speaker for those keeping score at home) and grabbed one of his shoes and held it up, and said, "Shhhhhhhhhoe." I smiled and said, "Shoe" which totally excited him so much that he trotted over and handed me his shoe and then in unison we both said, "Shoe - Shhhhhhhhhhhhoe" and smiled at each other.
I'm not sure who was more proud, me of him, or Wyatt of himself. Either way, it was one of those silly but sweet life moments - that you long remember.
Until I BLOG again...shoe.
What interests me about word usage is when it clicks for them, on their own. Unaided. When they get it. Put it together. It truly is amazing. Watching them go through the coo and screech stage. On to the da da da stage. Then the simple parrot stage. Then, probably my favorite, the (not sure what the real term for this is, thus my stuism) tower of babel stage. This is the stage when they appear to be talking to you, you can see in their eyes, that they are carrying on a conversation but it's complete gibberish. In fact, it sounds like they are speaking in a foreign language.
I always thought it would be ha-ha funny to call up a Chinese restaurant for take-out and let the Boy order in this crazy talk. See what sort of items we'd end up getting. Hard to get them to talk like this on cue though, I guess I'd have to record it, which sounds to complicated, but I digress - not even the point of this BLOG. The point.
Tower of babel stage leads to where we are at now with Wyatt. The first words used in context stage. Wyatt's first word to me in this mode was shoe. He can't say it very well. Sounds sort of like shhhhhhhhhhhoe. To much sh not enough oo. But, more important than his pronunciation is the fact that he gets it. He knows that he is saying shoe, and that it is a shoe, that's what you call it. That it is the word for it.
He said it to me the other morning, out of the blue. We were doing our standard early morning (I need to get the Boy a paper route, he wakes up at 5:30am pretty much every day!) Dad and Lad thing. He was walking around the front room, and he turned and looked at me and said, "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhoe." I took a drink of my coffee, to give myself time to deduce what he was saying, I replied, "Shoe?" He smiled at me, and said, "SHHHHHHHHHHOE!" To prove his point, he walked/ran over to where we keep the Boy(s) shoes in the front room (on top of a stereo speaker for those keeping score at home) and grabbed one of his shoes and held it up, and said, "Shhhhhhhhhoe." I smiled and said, "Shoe" which totally excited him so much that he trotted over and handed me his shoe and then in unison we both said, "Shoe - Shhhhhhhhhhhhoe" and smiled at each other.
I'm not sure who was more proud, me of him, or Wyatt of himself. Either way, it was one of those silly but sweet life moments - that you long remember.
Until I BLOG again...shoe.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Goodbye to All That
At times, I feel as if I (I guess I should change that to we - as in my Lovely Bride and me - since it is a tag team type of a deal) suck as a parent. Case in point. The Elder Boy is one month past his 3 year mark and he still has and uses a pacifier (we call it the plug.)
We have made certain steps to get him to let go of the plug habit. First step was not allowing him to take it out of the house. A few months later, we restricted his plug usage to his bedroom which is where we are at now, stalled. We've been in this mode for nearly six months.
We had high hopes of getting Ethan off the plug at the 2 year mark, but, we had the Little Warrior at about the same time, and well, he lived up to the billing, and was a holy terror for the first three months. We didn't have the energy, or I should say, resolve to get Ethan to quit the plug. Ethan was also going through the whole, I'm a baby phase because of his new brother, who, as a true baby was using a plug. It was complicated. We needed help. Enter the Plug Fairy. Yes, you read that correct - Plug Fairy.
The Plug Fairy is a mythical creature, cousin to the Tooth Fairy I guess, who drives a large semi-truck around collecting plugs from little boys and girls. He takes them to babies who need plugs. When you are ready, and you have to be ready, because the Plug Fairy don't dig Indian givers, you put all your plugs in a box, and leave it by your bed. While you sleep the Plug Fairy dusts his ass (in the big Semi-Truck) to your house, collects your plugs and leaves a gift that you have requested. Ethan wants Trevor.
For the last six months Ethan has waffled between wanting the Plug Fairy to come to his house - because he wanted some toy, to not wanting the Plug Fairy to come and take his plugs. Some days he'd get violent if you suggested the Plug Fairy, screaming "Bad Plug Fairy!" Other days he'd talk him up and then say, "Plug Fairy come tomorrow." Procrastinating, just like his Mom and Dad.
Then, this past Tuesday, Ethan re-hurt his teeth at school. This made sucking the plug painful. Couple that with the fact that we've been on what I've dubbed a toy moratorium since the Boy(s) birthdays and the holidays, Ethan, quite shrewdly figured it is the right time to summon the Plug Fairy.
Typical, I'm both sad and excited by the prospect of such a step. On one hand, I'm glad that the Boy is letter go of the plug, which is a big step for him. I also realize that this step is another away from me and his Mom. Bittersweet.
Until I BLOG again...Plug Fairy!
We have made certain steps to get him to let go of the plug habit. First step was not allowing him to take it out of the house. A few months later, we restricted his plug usage to his bedroom which is where we are at now, stalled. We've been in this mode for nearly six months.
We had high hopes of getting Ethan off the plug at the 2 year mark, but, we had the Little Warrior at about the same time, and well, he lived up to the billing, and was a holy terror for the first three months. We didn't have the energy, or I should say, resolve to get Ethan to quit the plug. Ethan was also going through the whole, I'm a baby phase because of his new brother, who, as a true baby was using a plug. It was complicated. We needed help. Enter the Plug Fairy. Yes, you read that correct - Plug Fairy.
The Plug Fairy is a mythical creature, cousin to the Tooth Fairy I guess, who drives a large semi-truck around collecting plugs from little boys and girls. He takes them to babies who need plugs. When you are ready, and you have to be ready, because the Plug Fairy don't dig Indian givers, you put all your plugs in a box, and leave it by your bed. While you sleep the Plug Fairy dusts his ass (in the big Semi-Truck) to your house, collects your plugs and leaves a gift that you have requested. Ethan wants Trevor.
For the last six months Ethan has waffled between wanting the Plug Fairy to come to his house - because he wanted some toy, to not wanting the Plug Fairy to come and take his plugs. Some days he'd get violent if you suggested the Plug Fairy, screaming "Bad Plug Fairy!" Other days he'd talk him up and then say, "Plug Fairy come tomorrow." Procrastinating, just like his Mom and Dad.
Then, this past Tuesday, Ethan re-hurt his teeth at school. This made sucking the plug painful. Couple that with the fact that we've been on what I've dubbed a toy moratorium since the Boy(s) birthdays and the holidays, Ethan, quite shrewdly figured it is the right time to summon the Plug Fairy.
Typical, I'm both sad and excited by the prospect of such a step. On one hand, I'm glad that the Boy is letter go of the plug, which is a big step for him. I also realize that this step is another away from me and his Mom. Bittersweet.
Until I BLOG again...Plug Fairy!
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Fear Factor
This is going to be one of those, "holy shit Stu, we didn't want to know that about you," kind of BLOGS. One that I've struggled with for some time. I contemplated simply shitcanning the entry entirely, but I keep coming back to my original mission with the Team Tinsley BLOG. Which is this: A remember when record for the Boy(s) in the Buck Rogers future. So they will have an idea of their crazy Daddy as he was circa 2005, a time, short of serious pyschotherapy, I don't think they will be able to remember. I think of my own childhood, and my first memories of my parents...and sadly, most are from when I'm quite a bit older than the current age of the Boy(s). Part of me would like to hop in a time machine and dust my ass back to when, to see what Jerr and Joyce were like when they were what is now, my age. Fingers crossed this here BLOG will be such a portal for the Boy(s). A lofty goal for one guy's goofy ass ramblings...but, hey, you are here, let's move forward by looking in the rearview...
December 2004 to be exact. Our story beings with the 2004 Team Tinsley holiday card. Well, that's not entirely true, as those on our card list know, we actually sent out a Kwanza card. For those that read or stumble on the BLOG and don't know Team Tinsley personally - we're caucasian. White folk.
I'm sure many, upon receiving our holiday effort, scratched their head, wondering, was it a mistake? Others, knowing my goofy sense of humor might have smiled, maybe even laughed. Most probably shook their heads and wondered how I could do such a thing. For all of you - I offer this:
I think it's funny.
But, to be honest, there is a bit more to it than me being funny. Someone once said, "Men show their character in nothing more clearly than by what they find laughable." Guilty as charged, you see, I have a problem with Christmas. That's not true. My problem is with religion, which since we're talking Christmas, is obviously Christianity. Christians - don't freak out and split - I'm not some card carrying atheist who thinks that we should strike "God" from the Pledge of Allegiance. Nothing like that. I'm not even what I'd call agnostic. I believe in a higher power. My problem is that I'm phobic about organized religion, Christianity, and since I'm not what I would consider a full-on practicing Christian, I feel awkward sending out a Christmas card. More simply put: Sticking feathers up your butt doesn't make you a chicken, I realize that sending a Christmas card doesn't make me a Christian. The conflict comes from my understanding that it is Christmas, and sending a Merry Christmas card when I haven't set foot in a church in all of 2004 makes me feel sort of dirty.
Not so much so that I would cancel the Holiday. I like Christmas. Be it secular or sacred Christmas reveals itself to each of us in a personal way - kind of like Santa's bag - inside there's a gift for everyone. But, still, each year, and even more so now that we've become breeders, I struggle with the holidays as it is a reminder that I need to figure out what religion means in my own life. What it will mean in the Boy(s) life. Only one problem - religion scares the (bad pun warning) hell out of me.
Like John Cougar, I was taught to fear Jesus in a small town, so I guess I can blame my Oklahoma upbringing for most of my religion phobias. My family wasn't that religious, which might have created some of my confusion. I wasn't around it in a regular formal way thus it was strange to me, and it being Oklahoma, it was everywhere. Growing up in Sand Springs, I was raised among some Bible beating folks. No snake handling - but I've seen and heard my share of hellfire and brimstone rhetoric, seen people speaking in tongues, and well, as a young and impressionable kid, it scared me. Being a Boy named Stu, it also pissed me off - the fear mongering aspect of it. Now, I freely admit that I'm bad at math, but what they were preaching just didn't add up for me personally. Burning records in a church parking lot because of satanic back masking. Excuse me? You can't wear make up or dance? Huh? Jesus had blonde hair, blue eyes, and wore a crew cut! Come again?
You probably think I'm trying to be funny with that last statement, but, in all honesty I went to grade school with a kid named Tony Patterson (that is his real name by the way, I'd love to know what happened to him!) who actually believed that Jesus wore a crew cut, had blonde hair, blue eyes. Literally. Never mind that, by all accounts, Jesus was a Jew, who came from the middle east, where people have dark eyes, hair and skin. Don't misunderstand, Tony wasn't a racist. The dark part didn't bother him as much as the long hair. In fact, Tony would get fighting mad if you told him that Jesus had long hair. Gordon Tipton would often tell Tony this and then compare Jesus (damn! Gordon Tipton was ahead of his time!) to a long haired hippy. Tony would go apeshit, turn bright red, and try to fight Gordon. So much for the whole turn the other cheek, brotherly love thing in the New Testament. Another joke. Yes, but again, even at a young age, I got the fact that what Tony was saying and then doing didn't add up, and it bothered and confused me.
As I got older, I became less scared by the hellfire, second coming, revelations type rhetoric, and became more aware of the hypocrisy that was rampant in my small town. The people that preached the loudest, seemed to be the ones that were out doing what they had been preaching against. Being a big believer in walking the talk, this turned me off even more, and sadly, pushed me away.
As I've matured, I realize that these are but a few, and for the most part, people are geniune in their beliefs and faith. I know that I shouldn't let a few bad apples ruin me on the whole thing. I understand that, but again, phobia, the very nature is that it is not rationale, or even logical. Thus, even though I thought of it often, I didn't do much about my aversion to organized religion. To be honest, I just tried to not think about it that much. I read a lot. But, didn't take any action. I was complacent.
Then we became breeders, and well, everything changes. I started thinking about it more and more, and from a completely different point of view, as a Dad. Then, with my Elder Boy, watching what must be the most base of all TV shows, the one and only Fear Factor, I had an epiphany.
Sitting in our easy chair, watching (Ethan LOVES Fear Factor) six buff / foxy contestants do three stunts, one of which is always a gross out event where they have to eat pig uterus, bugs, or buffalo nuts, I realized that I'd rather eat a cockroach than go to church. I'd rather walk a tight rope. In my little spaced out head game Joe Rogan would have me doing the walk of shame because I wouldn't go to church. Pardon me for this Dear Reader, but in this instance only one word can accurately describe what I felt - which is this - I was FUCKED up real hard.
Fear was most definitely a factor for me. It had been alright before I was a breeder, when it was just about me, but now, well It was gutless and bad. Wrong. There are two Boy(s) who look to me to be their example. I can't let fear stand in the way of what is right for them. Please don't misinterpret my use of right. As you've read, I'm not what I would call a religious person. It isn't tied to some dogma. I don't fully buy into all of that, although as I've have been painfully illustrating, I haven't given it a fair chance. I'm a very moral guy which is kind of strange considering how little religion has played a part in my life up to now. If you care what I think on the subject, my idea of what a good life is, click here, but again this isn't really about church as much as it is about my concern, or realization that I'm letting a fear, something that is uncomfortable to me personally, stand in the way of what is good, what is right for the Boy(s). I don't believe that they need to become Christians to be good. Hell, they can be shaved head Buddhist monks or card carrying atheists for that matter, ultimately it should be their choice when they are ready to make it. All I'm trying to do is to give them the options, the tools, be the best example of a man that I can be - so they turn out to be happy, decent men that can make their way in the world on their own. Fingers crossed, if me and My Lovely Bride can do that - well, we've done something good.
To get there, I've realized that I have to face an old fear. I won't win $50,000 like they do on Fear Factor if I can stare it down - I'll win much more. Wish me luck.
Until I BLOG again...Happy Happy (as in Birthday) Chew.
December 2004 to be exact. Our story beings with the 2004 Team Tinsley holiday card. Well, that's not entirely true, as those on our card list know, we actually sent out a Kwanza card. For those that read or stumble on the BLOG and don't know Team Tinsley personally - we're caucasian. White folk.
I'm sure many, upon receiving our holiday effort, scratched their head, wondering, was it a mistake? Others, knowing my goofy sense of humor might have smiled, maybe even laughed. Most probably shook their heads and wondered how I could do such a thing. For all of you - I offer this:
I think it's funny.
But, to be honest, there is a bit more to it than me being funny. Someone once said, "Men show their character in nothing more clearly than by what they find laughable." Guilty as charged, you see, I have a problem with Christmas. That's not true. My problem is with religion, which since we're talking Christmas, is obviously Christianity. Christians - don't freak out and split - I'm not some card carrying atheist who thinks that we should strike "God" from the Pledge of Allegiance. Nothing like that. I'm not even what I'd call agnostic. I believe in a higher power. My problem is that I'm phobic about organized religion, Christianity, and since I'm not what I would consider a full-on practicing Christian, I feel awkward sending out a Christmas card. More simply put: Sticking feathers up your butt doesn't make you a chicken, I realize that sending a Christmas card doesn't make me a Christian. The conflict comes from my understanding that it is Christmas, and sending a Merry Christmas card when I haven't set foot in a church in all of 2004 makes me feel sort of dirty.
Not so much so that I would cancel the Holiday. I like Christmas. Be it secular or sacred Christmas reveals itself to each of us in a personal way - kind of like Santa's bag - inside there's a gift for everyone. But, still, each year, and even more so now that we've become breeders, I struggle with the holidays as it is a reminder that I need to figure out what religion means in my own life. What it will mean in the Boy(s) life. Only one problem - religion scares the (bad pun warning) hell out of me.
Like John Cougar, I was taught to fear Jesus in a small town, so I guess I can blame my Oklahoma upbringing for most of my religion phobias. My family wasn't that religious, which might have created some of my confusion. I wasn't around it in a regular formal way thus it was strange to me, and it being Oklahoma, it was everywhere. Growing up in Sand Springs, I was raised among some Bible beating folks. No snake handling - but I've seen and heard my share of hellfire and brimstone rhetoric, seen people speaking in tongues, and well, as a young and impressionable kid, it scared me. Being a Boy named Stu, it also pissed me off - the fear mongering aspect of it. Now, I freely admit that I'm bad at math, but what they were preaching just didn't add up for me personally. Burning records in a church parking lot because of satanic back masking. Excuse me? You can't wear make up or dance? Huh? Jesus had blonde hair, blue eyes, and wore a crew cut! Come again?
You probably think I'm trying to be funny with that last statement, but, in all honesty I went to grade school with a kid named Tony Patterson (that is his real name by the way, I'd love to know what happened to him!) who actually believed that Jesus wore a crew cut, had blonde hair, blue eyes. Literally. Never mind that, by all accounts, Jesus was a Jew, who came from the middle east, where people have dark eyes, hair and skin. Don't misunderstand, Tony wasn't a racist. The dark part didn't bother him as much as the long hair. In fact, Tony would get fighting mad if you told him that Jesus had long hair. Gordon Tipton would often tell Tony this and then compare Jesus (damn! Gordon Tipton was ahead of his time!) to a long haired hippy. Tony would go apeshit, turn bright red, and try to fight Gordon. So much for the whole turn the other cheek, brotherly love thing in the New Testament. Another joke. Yes, but again, even at a young age, I got the fact that what Tony was saying and then doing didn't add up, and it bothered and confused me.
As I got older, I became less scared by the hellfire, second coming, revelations type rhetoric, and became more aware of the hypocrisy that was rampant in my small town. The people that preached the loudest, seemed to be the ones that were out doing what they had been preaching against. Being a big believer in walking the talk, this turned me off even more, and sadly, pushed me away.
As I've matured, I realize that these are but a few, and for the most part, people are geniune in their beliefs and faith. I know that I shouldn't let a few bad apples ruin me on the whole thing. I understand that, but again, phobia, the very nature is that it is not rationale, or even logical. Thus, even though I thought of it often, I didn't do much about my aversion to organized religion. To be honest, I just tried to not think about it that much. I read a lot. But, didn't take any action. I was complacent.
Then we became breeders, and well, everything changes. I started thinking about it more and more, and from a completely different point of view, as a Dad. Then, with my Elder Boy, watching what must be the most base of all TV shows, the one and only Fear Factor, I had an epiphany.
Sitting in our easy chair, watching (Ethan LOVES Fear Factor) six buff / foxy contestants do three stunts, one of which is always a gross out event where they have to eat pig uterus, bugs, or buffalo nuts, I realized that I'd rather eat a cockroach than go to church. I'd rather walk a tight rope. In my little spaced out head game Joe Rogan would have me doing the walk of shame because I wouldn't go to church. Pardon me for this Dear Reader, but in this instance only one word can accurately describe what I felt - which is this - I was FUCKED up real hard.
Fear was most definitely a factor for me. It had been alright before I was a breeder, when it was just about me, but now, well It was gutless and bad. Wrong. There are two Boy(s) who look to me to be their example. I can't let fear stand in the way of what is right for them. Please don't misinterpret my use of right. As you've read, I'm not what I would call a religious person. It isn't tied to some dogma. I don't fully buy into all of that, although as I've have been painfully illustrating, I haven't given it a fair chance. I'm a very moral guy which is kind of strange considering how little religion has played a part in my life up to now. If you care what I think on the subject, my idea of what a good life is, click here, but again this isn't really about church as much as it is about my concern, or realization that I'm letting a fear, something that is uncomfortable to me personally, stand in the way of what is good, what is right for the Boy(s). I don't believe that they need to become Christians to be good. Hell, they can be shaved head Buddhist monks or card carrying atheists for that matter, ultimately it should be their choice when they are ready to make it. All I'm trying to do is to give them the options, the tools, be the best example of a man that I can be - so they turn out to be happy, decent men that can make their way in the world on their own. Fingers crossed, if me and My Lovely Bride can do that - well, we've done something good.
To get there, I've realized that I have to face an old fear. I won't win $50,000 like they do on Fear Factor if I can stare it down - I'll win much more. Wish me luck.
Until I BLOG again...Happy Happy (as in Birthday) Chew.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Does Phil feel lucky?
For those that have noticed a drop in my BLOG quota...I offer you this little riff.
Befittingly, I drug my ass out of a self imposed hole last Wednesday, February 2nd in some sort of symbiotic wango tango with Punxsutawney Phil.
Phil, the prognosticator of prognosticators predicted six more weeks of winter. Dr. McNally, my prognostician of prognosi said that I was in fact, sick. Funny, when I finally decided to go to the see McNally last week, I didn't initially realize that it was Groundhog Dog. That realization slowly came as I sat around waiting for the Doctor, and going through the various tests.
You see, Dear Reader, Groundhog Day is one of my favorite movies. I can watch it over and over (re-watchability.) For me, the movie is a psychic rubber band pop on the wrist in my continual struggle to be in the now - to be a better person. As of late, I've been a lot like Phil (Bill Murray's character in the movie, not the giant rat in PA.) To put in in terms of the movie (if you've seen it, if not, by all means rent it,) I'd be waking up each day to Sonny and Cher's I Got You Babe on the clock radio.
It would be easy to blame the flu, but I really need to blame Stu. As it is said in the movie, "What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same, and nothing you did mattered?" One of the guys in the movie replies, "That pretty much sums it up for me." Sadly, that summed up my mindset up until last Wednesday.
So, going to the Doctor on Groundhogs Day has been a fortuitous experience for yours truly - knocking my Okie ass out of some self imposed sicky funk. I'm not sure if I saw my shadow, but I do feel better. Quite possibly because of the steroids I've been prescribed. Or my one hit lung candy machine, which I would guess is akin to snorting crank. Whatever, I'm on my way to wellville, and feel like I'm about to pass Go to another day.
Until I BLOG again...BING.
Befittingly, I drug my ass out of a self imposed hole last Wednesday, February 2nd in some sort of symbiotic wango tango with Punxsutawney Phil.
Phil, the prognosticator of prognosticators predicted six more weeks of winter. Dr. McNally, my prognostician of prognosi said that I was in fact, sick. Funny, when I finally decided to go to the see McNally last week, I didn't initially realize that it was Groundhog Dog. That realization slowly came as I sat around waiting for the Doctor, and going through the various tests.
You see, Dear Reader, Groundhog Day is one of my favorite movies. I can watch it over and over (re-watchability.) For me, the movie is a psychic rubber band pop on the wrist in my continual struggle to be in the now - to be a better person. As of late, I've been a lot like Phil (Bill Murray's character in the movie, not the giant rat in PA.) To put in in terms of the movie (if you've seen it, if not, by all means rent it,) I'd be waking up each day to Sonny and Cher's I Got You Babe on the clock radio.
It would be easy to blame the flu, but I really need to blame Stu. As it is said in the movie, "What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same, and nothing you did mattered?" One of the guys in the movie replies, "That pretty much sums it up for me." Sadly, that summed up my mindset up until last Wednesday.
So, going to the Doctor on Groundhogs Day has been a fortuitous experience for yours truly - knocking my Okie ass out of some self imposed sicky funk. I'm not sure if I saw my shadow, but I do feel better. Quite possibly because of the steroids I've been prescribed. Or my one hit lung candy machine, which I would guess is akin to snorting crank. Whatever, I'm on my way to wellville, and feel like I'm about to pass Go to another day.
Until I BLOG again...BING.
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