In the writing lab 2:59PM. Just had to apologize, hang my head, do penance, smooth the rough spots. Chay turns six today. Tomorrow is the big party, so today is a preparation day. We run to Costco for a giant bag of chicken wings and other supplies, and then stop at La Tapatia for a pinata on the way home. Commerce and piling the booty into big boulder had us off our A-game. As I and toddler Coen, sat in the parking lot, he started sucking on the silver part of the seat belt, in the frustrating toddler way of doing things, which can be very cute and funny, but also infuriating. It’s like playing chicken with Joker, you flip back and forth between desperation and laughter. The gang shows up, pile back in, motorcycle pinata on birthday-boy’s lap in the middle. Mom tells me she talked him out of the skull. I tell her she should have let him get it. On the way home Coen goes to works on the motorcycle’s yellow tassels, enraging birthday-boy. I try to get control of the situation, while Mom drives, we were too packed in for me to operate the vehicle safely. Little man has the perfect barrier of bulk items blocking my control, so we start a game of automotive Marco-Polo, which involves me trying to stop his hands from ripping the tassels off. I succeed but have only elevated the stakes. Now it a game of hand combat. I, more expert at the martial arts, control him easily, but this only brings the toddler’s ear piercing screams of defeat. The siren causes me to let go of the hand, and the game begins again.
Several rounds into that I lost it. Raise my voice. Yell at little man to stop. He gives me big pouty bottom lip. Saucer eyes lids brim with tears in a cartoonish fashion. In the moment, I feel terrible and angry, let down by my own lack of composure. It all becomes obvious I should have brought a cooler, and bags for the grocery, so I could put them in the bed of the pickup. We should have gone into the grocery with everyone else so we weren’t bored. No matter what, it is your responsibility as a parent to BE COOL. You cannot teach little ones not to throw fits, if you’re throwing a fit.
I deleted a post the other day. I was sort of embarrassed by all that, by what I wrote, deleting it. It was whiny, cliche. Quoted Mel Gibson as William Wallace, so silly and melodramatic. It was all true, horribly true of course, and I should have left it. I did leave it, in here, the electronic second brain of this creature.
I get build up, pressure issues when I’m not writing new stuff. It’s kind of odd to start falling apart cause of the something like that. It’s about exhausting that emotional, psychic build up, I think. Hitting the bag gets it out, exercise or intensive manual labor too. Time, always the issue. That’s just something to say though isn’t it. The truth is much more complicated. You have more energy, do more, brings more challenges, requires more energy more activity, do more, more challenges, more energy, more challenges. Something like that. No real thing as rest. The meditation will be timed. Start now, ten minutes. Space between thoughts. I am Austin. I am Austin. I am Austin….3:36PM