Skrip - tyur' - i - ent: adj. Possessing the violent desire to write.


#101 In which our hero says he's sorry.

Hey Internet! What’s up? How you been? Huh? Me? Oh, you know, I’ve been busy with this new job and -- What? No, no… it’s not like that. Not at all.

Of course we’re still friends.

Sure, yeah, I should have written, but, y’know… things get busy and… hey, hey. I’m sorry, okay? I know, I know… but the thing is I’m writing all day, and I mean all day, not like other jobs I’ve had where I’m surfing the Internet half the time --

Well, sure, I could write after work, but I have to get dinner ready, and then it’s putting the little girl to bed and, and…

Hey, you know what? I don’t need to make excuses to you. You’re not the boss of me! I’ll write when I damn well want to write, not when you think I should write something! I’m not your damn blog monkey, y’know? I’m my own man, baby! You HEAR what I’m saying --

Oh, hey… look, don’t… don’t cry. I’m sorry. Look, sometimes I just get crazy and I don’t really mean the things I say…

You’re right, you’re right. I don’t deserve you… you’ve been so good to me, and I’m such a jerk! Such a jerk!

I’m sorry, okay?

So, we’re okay? Yeah? Okay?

All right, yeah… I’ll try to write more often.

You sure we’re okay?


#100 In which our hero gets a scare.

It seems like I haven’t updated this page in months... but in reality it’s only be a couple of weeks. It’s odd how I feel this obligation to write new things... as if it were my job. Or as if anyone really reads what I write. Anyway.

First of all... post #100! Woo-hoo! I’m fairly impressed by myself, finally breaking into triple digits. Of course, compared to many, many other - ugh, I hate to even write it - “bloggers” I’m a piker. A mere child. “Talk to me when you’ve been consistently posting for a few years,” they sneer at me. Anyway.

So, I actually did write a new post a couple of days ago, and, unlike my usually Modus operandi of posting with minimal thought to consequences, I carefully re-read it first. And decided not to publish it. Why? Well, it dealt with hurricane Katrina and... honestly, I came across as an uncaring prick. It’s just that people piss me off some times. Especially those that are deriding others that are genuinely trying to help... like the guy that wanted to “burn the fucking city down” because the national guard didn’t show up within hours of the hurricane landing. But, upon review, I decided that that was extreme frustration talking, and I gave the guy a pass. And just so you don’t think I am an uncaring prick... I was as moved and horrified by the footage as you where. Especially after hearing that scores of parents has to leave their sick children in the hospital while they fled north for their lives. Holy Christ, if that doesn’t get to you, nothing will.

I find myself thinking a great deal about my children this morning. Partly because of Laid Off Dad’s post about dreams in which his son is kidnapped, and partly because of something that happened yesterday.

The Scientist and I were going for a walk after diner, as we are wont to do. And Lily, who will be two in November, was refusing to ride in the stroller, as she is wont to do. She was walking in front of us, probably 10 yards or so. This is a residential sidewalk we’re on, and up ahead I see a group of four guys leave a house and head to a car that’s parked on the street. Now, we’re not worrisome parents, and don’t feel the need to have our children within reach at all times... within sight is fine, at least in our own neighborhood. But as this situation suddenly developed my heart sank:
  1. The guys were getting into their car just as Lily was walking past
  2. Lily was far enough ahead of us that I wouldn’t be able to reach her before one of these strange men could grab her
I started walking quickly toward her, and called out her name loudly. But, I really wanted to run as fast as I could and scoop her up and out of harm’s way.
Of course, nothing happened. The guys got into their car without a second look at Lily and drove away. If The Scientist noticed what happened, or might have happened (and I’m sure she did) she didn’t say anything, and neither did I.

But I kept a closer eye on the little girl for the rest of the walk, and made sure she was close enough to us at all time.

Man... crap like this didn’t happen before I had kids. If it's this bad now, what is it going to be like when she's 16?