Pull up a couch, the Doctor is in

(This entry was conceived and written a couple of weeks ago, but not posted until now.)

I’ve been in this funk for the last 34 years or so… and I don’t mean I’ve been surrounded by the stink of tobacco (I had to dig deep into my dictionary for that one). Who knows, maybe tomorrow will be merely mediocre.

What’s the reason for my blue mood? It’s hard to talk about. Sandwiched between a couple minor health issues, I’m having a bout of shame. Colds and bodily aches and pains have a way of magnifying any problem, and tonight is no exception. The problem is this: by any objective measure, I may be a complete failure as a parent at this point in my development. Life is dynamic, so everything is a work in progress… thus the reference to my “development” as a parent. That’s really the only positive thing I can come up with tonight (that it’s not over yet)… that and I haven’t caused anyone any physical harm. That’s hardly “dad of the year” stuff. Perhaps my biggest problem is that I’m just not a happy person. Take Jeanine Garofalo minus the sense of humor, self-confidence, talent; add somewhere between 12 to 18 inches, and make “her” a “him”… and I don’t know what you’ve got. I was going to say “me,” but I think the whole thing fell apart somewhere around 18 inches… for me anyway. If you like it you can keep it.

It was a Herculean effort to make it to Friday this week, only to have more commitments this weekend than I did this week. There’s this office picnic that snuck up on me… which I’m sure will go swell with my unrelenting surgery discomfort. Throw in a couple of power struggles over chores and homework getting done, and I’ll be waxing poetic about the office. In the movies people have a funk and they stay in bed for a day or two. Now there’s high fiction.

I really need to get that heavy bag I’ve wanted to get for the family room, something I could work over to work out the kinks.

Or not.

Give the gift of words.