Ch. 200; Vol. 10

I dragged my eyelids open; tired, tired, tired…

I was still halfway through forgotten dreams and book readings on a Thursday night – Adam drenched in resin sealed in an alabaster sarcophagus inside the Ark, scavenged by the Smithsonian. That part wasn’t a dream. So they say…

“Come on, buddy…”

My son curled up in a chubby sleepy roll on his bed…

“Let me finish my dream.”

Sure. Two minutes later, he walked to the bathroom…

“So, how was your dream, good?”

“Uh huh.”

“What happened in it?”

“…too long… I think it just started a minute ago.”

Puck didn’t appreciate the prescribed “muscle man” shirt for the 98 degree wardrobe that morning. He walked out with his gray creatures-of-the-deep-attacking-a-sailing-ship t-shirt underneath the muscle man shirt…

“Uh… Puck?”

“I don’t want Grandma to see my muscles showing out.”

“Ok…”

Breakfast yogurt. Puck ate fast. He clutched the top of his chest…

“FREEZE BRAIN!”

Something like that.

The whole thing took me about two hours longer than I had scheduled for myself.

Back at the office seven months later: new procedures, new projects, new things.

And a jumbo bag of unpopped popcorn as my solitary work companion, until Babe Ruth popped in and out and then back again, making phone calls, cleaning carpets, and just doing what he does. M&M and the other boys being done for the week already.

My lunch was leftover rice.

Because the office is always short on eating utensils – and because I always forget to bring my own – I resorted to thin coffee straws as chopsticks, which… worked ok.

And back in the heat, heat, heat.

Grandma was – as Mom described her – perky. Her small self sitting up straight in her chair, trimmed white hair, conversing about whatever the afternoon brought.

Puck had gotten himself busy making balloon-line-catapults with cording, straws, and balloons.

Can I be blamed – finally cruising up the driveway at five o’clock: Digiorno stuffed crust meat lovers pizza. Puck made himself another cardboard-box-based wardrobe. “Gangnam Style”.

Ok. I can probably be blamed for that…

Robin Hood: Disney version.

Bows and arrows in the living room – plastic – Puck patiently giving me lessons, until his last arrow snapped, swiping a shallow bloody canyon across his thumb, tears, macaroni and cheese band-aid.

Night.

Fireflies – I was happy to see them back this year. Off-brand peanut butter cups. Moone Boy – 1980’s Ireland.

No regrets.