Here it is - Sunday. Rachel and I drank champagne last night while we watched television with the boy, which was pleasant. We started watching Apollo 13 but it upset the boy when things started to go south for the crew. Perhaps the idea of somebody's father dying helplessly in a cold and isolated place was too much for his nine year old mind. That could just be me, projecting my fears and desires.
We're good parents.
CS said something to me the other day and I suspect that he is right. Being a father has done something horrible to me. It has stripped me of my sense of humor, my verve. Well, being a father and being in a relationship. You end up losing whatever audience you had and gaining one that only finds you funny if you're relaying pre-endorsed humor. Dad jokes, etc.
Keep in mind that I didn't blame the boy and his mother in the paragraph above, that pornographer CS did. All that I have done is to relay his wisdom here. He phrased it differently, emphasizing the things that I can no longer write about, blaming their absence for my sober times. He encouraged me to re-kickstart my dj'ing hobby and to focus on targeted corporate events that cater to the leaders of the home, the buyers of all things domestic. The idea is to start at Tupperware parties then move them to more of a TupperWareHouse© concept.
I go to a three hour coaching camp this morning. I will discover some best practices for being an assistant coach of a boy's 4th grade basketball team. My pre-game speeches, I hope, will propel these young boys into a lifetime of victories. Some will say that my coaching style is too barbaric and cruel, focusing on my emphasis of the perpetual shame of loss rather than on perceived positive qualities like sportsmanship and good old-fashioned hussle. I have a speech already prepared for this eventuality, focusing on why Simone Biles was such a disappointment to America and ending with a fact-free prolix on the "spiritual innocence" of Kyle Rittenhouse. Then, I'll ask them all to donate money to his defense fund and to join me in an "All Lives Matter" team chant. It should be fun.
She was married when we first met, soon to be divorced.I helped her out of a jam, I guess, but I used a little too much force.