Because your ISP is so quick on the DNS ball, you get a special sneak peek at what the whole countdown of days is! And this is it! Whoo-hooo purple!
Seriously, don't you like purple? Everybody likes purple. Whats wrong with you? All those other people are looking at the parchment, but not you, no, you, you lucky bastard, are getting the purple treatment, so you better smile and put your nice shoes on, cause we're going on the town!
Yeah, I got new hosting. Johnny Dobbins, a GOD among MEN, has been putting the 'tumor up gratis for well over a year now, and he bent over backwards when BJ got sick, and died, despite having worlds of problems of his own, and kept the website up. The website being up saved me from insanity, quite seriously. I would have hemmoraged with verbs. It's ugly. I understand Hemingway started doing that.
Or Sophicles, or somebody. Maybe it was Lewis Grizzard. Shit, I dunno.
Point is, bad stuff... wait, was that my point? I don't remember anymore.
Oh, yeah, Johnny... well, I want to both get off Johnnys back with this, although he's never complained about my being a pain in the ass before, and I want to be accountable for the whole thing myself. Its nice having your name on the bill sometimes, and now, thanks to the generosity of strangers (not unlike Scarlett, whom I'm told I bear more than a passing resemblance to) I can do it. Thanks, strangers, its a Christmas (or Kwanza or Festivus, or whatever) present from you to me, and I say Cheers!
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So, I was on my way to Time Out for our Monday evening repose, and figured I'd call a friend to see if she and her kids would like to tag along. I was trying not to use familar names, because this friend is somebody that Pigpen is a big fan of, and I didn't want him to get started up...
So she couldn't make it, and MastaG was questioning me "who was it", and I was trying to kinda be quiet, and use pig latin (except G doesn't know it... he's busy taking Esperanto). So I finally got it across, and theres Pigpen in the back seat, over the road noise, and the CD player, chirping up letting me know that he knew EXACTLY who I was talking to.
Me: Man, Pigpen, you have ears like a hawk!!!
Pigpen: (without missing a beat) Well you have ears like a CHICKEN!!!
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I don't remember what the deal was, I was trying to come up with non-sequtors to mess with MastaG earlier, and I said something like "Its like saying that stars have to go to the bathroom!", and again, without missing a beat, he said "Well yeah, Dad, they tinkle. Tinkle Tinkle Little Star?"
Smart assed kids.
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The numbness, BTW is completely gone. Luckily, I'm not horrified by her being dead, although I can horrify myself pretty easy if I try to think of the horrifying questions:
'did she feel the stroke?'
'was she afraid when she was sedated?'
'DID SHE HURT?'
'why?'
'did time slow down, when she couldn't move, and was vented, and heard nothing (before we brought Bos and Eaves ipod) but the nurses in the other room and the beep of machines, occasionally awaking to doctors poking her with needles and moving her around in uncomfortable positions, and wondering why the hell her husband wasn't there, why she was alone?'
'did she regret her final words to me? her children?'
'Did she know she was going to die?'
Yeah, that stuff horrifies me.
While I'm purging, lets talk about those eyes. After her stroke, the way they'd be discognitive. They'd point in opposite directions. I think I'll have nightmares about that one day.
But what was worse, was after that final stroke, I had to see them. I had to. So I looked, and they were blown. They were still pointing that way, but oh man, you couldn't see those beautiful colors anymore. They were black. Black with finality.
The numbness was kind enough to show me how to deal with those kinds of things, I deal with it, evidently, by pissing people off, creating drama elsewhere so that I'm distracted from the things that pit at the bottom of my stomach. I indulge my impulses, with thoughts of new cars, christmas presents for the boys (I spent 700 bucks on MastaG's big present today), hosting, the new Bluetooth thing for myself, all these things my nature tells me not to buy, but my impulse goes ahead and does anyway because it has free range. I impulsively blow off work, even though I have a great job, with excellent bosses, because I don't control it. I won't say I can't control it, but I'm not.
If I can continue being the dad I always was for the boys, like I am now, I don't care what else happens. So far, I'm doing well by them. They go to bed happy, and they wake up secure. They sleep well, and they eat well, and they play well.
Thats all that matters to me.
Anyway, I've gone and gotten melancholy.
Good night, you lucky interneters.