Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Danger abhors a vacuum




I'm not always the first person to realize that I fucked something up, but this time I am, barely.

It took arriving at the beach before it occurred to me that perhaps we - Rhys, the cousins, my brother, and I - should have had one or more days of doing absolutely nothing at all, preferably at the beach. Without realizing that maybe I was doing something "wrong" I made plans every single day - Pool Party, Zoo, Disney, Kennedy Space Center, then letting them get launched into the space of a parking lot. I had those kids and my brother running around every day, as if nothing might disappoint them. I'm doing nothing now. It's quite relaxing. Kids eat this shit up, as if time were of no concern at all, beyond having more of it.

Now that I am at the beach it has occurred to me what we probably should have all done: go to the beach, do nothing; repeat - .


I am relaxed and calm, even though we are enduring the friction and heat of the furious palm of the devil. Florida is where Satan goes to masturbate. It's wonderful and beautiful and a kind of paradise, but the sky is made of fire and the asphalt is much worse than anything the bible ever threatened, well beyond its suggested cure. Florida is as cute and enduring as nature's butthole. This place screams "spilled seed" in a way that the good book could have hardly imagined. This place is Pornhubcom when compared the famously best of things they had going on then: Sodom and (every so often) Gomorrah, as the mood takes one. 

Wait, no bible bubbles today.

Though, don't forget that Sodom is and always has been just above or below the promised region, depending on spiritual flight path approach.


I knew that this vacation would be tiring. We hoped to pack so much into such a short period of time, and Mommy's not here. That means Daddy is on duty for 168 unrelenting hours, all lined in a convenient row.

When I'm honest: I miss Mommy, too.


Being a single parent is no special honor. It is exhausting, but lots of other things are also, so people can dismiss the struggle easily enough without having sullied themselves with proving the effort. When people try to bestow special honors on the parents of special needs' kids, I always try to put things in perspective for them. There are certain worries and obligations that need not enter the minds of the parents of those children, though certainly those differences must arrive as little comfort or reprieve. The caring for of humans requires multitudes.

I could use one among those multitudes now: Mom.

Motherhood is immanence.

I'll mercilessly bludgeon the brute who claims otherwise.






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