The Return of the Blogger

So.

Here I am.

There you are.

My wife, Bibi? Yeah, she's writing one amazing blog nowadays.

It's intimidating. I'm not bothered by the fact that my wife's blog is significantly better then mine (funnier, updated more frequently, has pictures, and is about...actual topics, etc.) but it is a bit intimidating, none the less. I think I now have performance anxiety.

I hope I don't complete this post too quickly.

Anyway.

So, I have a couple of thoughts that I would like to put down for you all to see. First off, as promised...I want to tell you all about the turn that my daytime fantasies have taken.

As I previously posted, I have always had little scenarios playing in my mind. It's always been something that I have been able to do both without any real thought, and guided actively by my own imagination.

So.

I now find myself pondering some of the strangest, darkest, and most disturbing possibilities that I've ever...well, I don't even think that I would have thought these things possible. It's not that they are particularly original, or that they fit into some really sick and demented segment of the pyschotic world. No, it's more the FREQUENCY that I find frightening.

For example, as I sit in our office, I heard a crack from the other room. In all likelyhood, it was probably Gracie playing with some blocks. (As was evidenced by her laughing hysterically shortly thereafter.) However, in the infinite span of one second between the crack of blocks and the delightfully precious squeal of laughter that followed, I was pretty sure that something had fallen, and it was Gracie's neck snapping that I heard. Just an hour ago I left to take Leo for his walk; and, as I was coming to the last corner, I was pretty sure that I would see smoke eminating from the house at the bottom of the hill. When I did round the corner, I was not relieved to see that there was no smoke, as that simply meant that I would find the bodies of my wife and daughter having died of carbon monoxide poisoning in the 25 minutes I was gone.

Or, when Bibi comes to pick me up at work. I always step outside or wait by the doors, and I'm always early.

Always.

However, if Bibi is not there--about 5 minutes before I should even expect her to be there--then I realize that it must be because of the horrible accident along the way. Some drunken douchebag who doesn't deserve to breathe the air that is trapped in our diaper pail has clearly ripped my wife and daughter from my life, and he's probably fine. In fact, he's probably not even aware that there is part of the car (or worse!!!) dragging under his barely dented car. (That a$$hole.)

I could go on. I know that when I do drive myself home, I'm going to arrive just a few seconds too late to catch the rapist/child murderer who is leaving my home dressed in a Culligan uniform. That van that drove by yesterday? The one with the ice cream menu on the side? Yeah, he's actually stalking us, timing his heinous acts just so that he'll drive by me on my way home. In fact, he'll stop at the top of the hill, watch me go in, and then smile to himself as he drives away. Don't even get me STARTED on the Schwann's man. (That bastard.)

So, as you can see, I no longer have time to imagine myself rescuing masses from terrorists or various other evil doers.

Because now?

I'm too busy imaging that they win.

All right. I was going to talk about the Polygamist's compound raid, becuase I got thoughts about that whole thing, but I think I've blogged myself silly here.

Thanks for stopping by.

Tommy