The parents of a boy named Coddy, pronounced Cody

Oh dear. I'm trying to decide which is worse, this or the boy named Myra, and cannot for the life of me come to a conclusion. They both are huge with the suckitude.

I have a friend-ish who, if their child is a girl will be named Cannon. If it's a boy, he'll be Pilot.

Their last name is Schutte (pronounced shoot-ie)

"My name is Sue! How do you do?"

Grumbling at "Jewelianna", for sundy and varied reasons mostly relating to her own name issues.

The parents of a boy named Coddy, pronounced Cody, who will get to spend many, many decades spelling his name and correcting and correcting and correcting everyone while hating his parents for saddling him with an extra D that turned his name from a short sweet boyname to something indicating that he apparently resembles a whitefish

It's like they picked his name off a tenth-hand telemarketing list.

Cannon Shootie?

Oh, dear. At least the boy name isn't Shotgun.

Oh, dear. What are these parents thinking?! Poor kids!

No,but not to fear, JZ. It could yet be worse...there was a stick-up boy in West Baltimore named OmarSomething, but he went out without a jacket one day and was Snot Boogie, or just Snot for his whole pathetic life. Also unhappy today...my mother went home from work with Heinous Death Spore that her boss had been out for two days with...we really didn't need this. Also, know more about crutches than any human ought, but enough to frell my murder. Stupid modern lightweight titanium!

I'm exhausted. There's no point in going into the long rant that describes how I ended up exhausted, but it involves insomnia, Ambien, what I suspect is a change in my body's ability to metabolize Ambien, and a Dad who can't stay out of the fucking hospital for 3 days.

I know, I know, I know -- as much as I hate him being in the hospital, he hates it more, and I keep trying to keep that foremost in my mind -- at least I'm kicking around, doing my thing, not in a hospital bed with a camera up my femoral artery, wondering if this is the Big One.

I get that. I do. I totally do.

But I am so so so SO fucking tired of my Dad going in the hospital and not getting fixed because this isn't something that *can* be fixed, the way you set a broken bone or take antibiotics for bronchitis.

I can't do anything to fix him, and I hate hate HATE seeing him in a hospital bed with a gazillion tubes sticking out of his arms like he's some kind of *invalid,* which I guess he is, but he's *not,* damn it.

And there's nothing I can do, except worry, and I am so so SO exhausted.

{{{Steph}}}

{{{Steph}}}