Wednesday, April 25, 2012


Talk about being extremely lazy, I have become that definition for a writer.

As far as I can tell, her moods are starting to swing, not wildly, but more of a pendulum on a really, really, long pole.  I find the irony about her swings rather absurdly funny.

She wanted a child for a long time, and a life plan and everything.  My presence de-railed that plan, or at least, diverted on the scenic route.  So now that she has whats she wants, she complains, as every pregnant woman does, rightfully so, about how her body is changing, her breasts getting bigger (yay!), her back hurting, the random fruit sized fetus moving and pressing on her bladder and various other organs.

I take it all in stride, smile, sigh happily while giving her a kiss and letting her know with a devilish smile that she's only got xxx days/weeks/months left until she will, by the grace of God (which I somehow started to somewhat believe in during this whole crucible), pop out of her vagina a healthy human baby covered in blood and something approximanting 75W-140 differential oil.

I then proceed to the garage and continue the tear-down on my new, and extremely used, 1989 Nissan 240SX.  More on this timid beast later.

I honestly thought I would have more to say to about my feelings and emotions and the whole metamorphisis of this car geek-cum-mechanic to father, but short of my own stresses, there hasn't been much a change yet.  I drink less, wrench more.  That's about it.