God damn, why am I awake and at work?

God damn, why am I awake and at work?

Morning brings out these existential questions. In my case, I woke up irretrievably before 6 and when I gave up and went to make coffee, I knocked a sugar container, which I should have put back in the cabinet, off the counter and it broke open.

These things wouldn't happen if a magic robot gave me my coffee while I was still safe in bed.

How are things going with the Boy's mother, Teppy? I know your support is a blessing for him. For one, you saved him from coming back from his mother to face a dog-shit debacle.

This so does not compare to the serious stuff in the lives of others (and I'm so sorry Steph and Nora are having to deal with such hard stuff) but today is my first day back from an awesome vacation. I just do not want to face my day, which will not be fun.

And I'm waiting for client in Starbucks and there is a really loud and annoying day trader I here who is way too proud of his purchases. Or sales or whatever.

When I leave here, I am taking my client to jail so he can be arrested. Which is the law at work but it still is a crappy way to start the week.

God damn, why am I awake and at work?

Because you have that Midwestern sense of responsibility that is both a virtue and a burden, often both at the same time.

Idea to toss out -- If Boy's mother is stable tonight, it might be a good idea to take Boy out to a movie, or some other mindless activity. Give his brain a chance to recharge.

How are things going with the Boy's mother, Teppy?

He called this morning and said that she had a rough night, breathing-wise, but seems to have settled down now. Every time he calls, I expect it to be him telling me she died.

For one, you saved him from coming back from his mother to face a dog-shit debacle.

I didn't even bother to tell him about the dog shit debacle, because he doesn't need to launch into a litany of "I am so sorry you had to clean that up!" (He is the designated dog poop cleaner-upper, because it generally makes me barf when I do it.) He's got more than enough on his plate and doesn't need to feel bad that I had to clean up the poopsplosion and clean up the dog.

My inner Greek chorus of madmen HATES not telling him, because they want a cookie for their good deed.

If Boy's mother is stable tonight, it might be a good idea to take Boy out to a movie, or some other mindless activity.

He won't leave. I could barely get him to come home for a few hours yesterday to get a shower and clean clothes and sort out which bills are due when so that I can pay them and get them in the mail today.

Sends cookies to Steph's mad Greek chorus.

Sends cookies to Steph's mad Greek chorus.

Me too!

OMG, so sleepy today. Need... to... make... red... beans!

Need... to... make... red... beans!

Nom! I would take that in lieu of a cookie.

Adding my good thoughts to the many for the Boy, his family, and Steph. I went through this with DW when her dad had leukemia and it is SO hard.

{{{Nora}}}