The second cup of coffee is the one where I start feeling like I might live. Cup one ends, then I’m sitting on the toilet, working up some hemorrhoids (nine tries spelling that and I have to Google it, let’s get real here folks) and staring deep into a Reddit screed about why someone should give Brendan Fraser a fucking job.
I remember when he was America’s Boyfriend and now he’s getting fleeced for almost a mil a year by his ex-wife, but then I realize the sick, wounded part of my brain (which is an extremely nonspecific statement because it refers to my entire brain) is only crying out for an ex-rich and arguably ex-famous guy to get some sort of justice as a totem for my dreams of deliverance from my own self-loathing. Bad socialist. Let it burn.
The girls have opened two sets of tiny little Legos, which is how they refer to them, and I’m glad. I refuse to say, “Lego blocks,” and I’m doing my part to make it a generic term by purchasing Lego-compatible toys and throwing them into the same bin with the official blocks while referring to them all as Legos. Megabloks? Legos. Kre-O? Legos.
I pause to survey the scene and say, “I love you.” Cora replies with the same.
I want to write a poem about how everything is dirt, but that’s not honest. There are things I love. Winter is here, literally and figuratively, and I’m not King in the North. I am not a honed blade. I am shivering here like the rest and I’ve made the epic fucking mistake of opening my Facebook feed to discussions of how hard a football player should be allowed to punch/slap his girlfriend, if at all, and an avalanche of other assorted mental landfill heaps collapse into my face. After enough recombinant arguments I’m left with a mutant reality that cannot live with itself. A tumorous, heaving thing.
Life will be a hammer in the teeth for a while then perhaps it won’t.
The days are short so work is nearly dawn to dusk. I enjoy my family, my children. This is the string that holds the anvil.
I think I will wear my gloves today. Capaldi shook the right one in Dallas when I was dressed in that ridiculous cosplay getup, which I love. Who needs pills? I have increasingly obscure British science fiction pantomime.
This is not a happy ending. This is Today’s Action Plan.
Action Plan Phase Two should be shaving my shitty neckbeard, which I pull off even less well than David Tennant (who cannot pull it off at all), but I have neither the time nor the inclination.
Cora is snorting boogers because she wants to eat them.
It’s the little things.