Balinares — LiveJournal
May. 6th, 2011
May. 1st, 2011
04:30 pm - Dude.
Mar. 17th, 2011
08:24 pm - And then...
... I stopped my one week old son's crying by rocking him and -- the rocking alone wouldn't do -- singing to him the main theme of Final Fantasy 6.
My sons. :)
08:19 pm - Furries ruin everything.
Playing with my two year old son:
I throw a ball. He goes down on all four, gallops after the ball, picks it up with his mouth, turns around, comes back to me still on all four, and drops the ball in my hand, all covered in drool.
I swear nobody taught him that.
Mar. 7th, 2011
11:03 am - Goodness.
They barely had time to take her to the hospital and put her on a bed. By the time I posted that last message, Arthur was already three minutes old.
Spent the morning with them. Now I'm home, seeing to stuff. And then I CRASH.
Right, so after three fruitless trips to the maternity ward, it looks like the fourth will be good. Enough so that I may not have time to take kid #1 to his nanny and join C. at the hospital, where she departed to an hour ago in an ambulance.
I'd say, 30 more minutes and then I wake up kid #1 no matter what, and off we zoom.
Then, someday, eventually there will be SLEEP. Yes.
Feb. 28th, 2011
09:12 am - Rahr.
Monday morning. Still no sproutling #2, and that's after two trips to the maternity ward in the last two weeks.
Monday morning, first day in ages that we don't have various family members visiting, those being initially planned as "take care of house and kid #1 and everything while you're at the maternity ward with kid #2" visits. Which went on just as planned except for the 'kid #2' part.
So of course, Monday morning it should be, the day my car chooses to CRAP OUT ON ME AGAIN, when I've got no one else to fall back on.
Seriously, I need a break.
Jan. 12th, 2011
01:30 am - Cardboard Wings.
I can't tell if it's a failure of the English vocabulary or of my mastery thereof, but there are emotions for which I have no name.
There's one, in particular, that I am thinking of. It fills you slowly as you are reading a certain book, or absorbing a certain movie -- not all, by far, only a very select few books or movies have that kind of power -- and you don't notice it very much at first; and then you turn the last page, or watch the credits scroll while the end music plays, and soon you are filled with a feeling of acute bereavement from it being over.
This... well, this is something I'd have by default assumed to be the result of my own brain chemistry and its particular idiosyncrasies. I do that. And then, early in my Internet days, I heard others mention it. And now, what I assume to be a flavor of it made the news. So what defines that emotion, I guess, is the shape of the void it leaves after it's gone, some sort of melancholic longing for something beautiful and impossible.
The funny thing about it is that, at some point, back when I was a wee kid, I had no difficulty prolonging that emotion on my own after the source was gone. The other universe and its beautiful workings just lived on easily in my mind and in the childlike games I played.
So it goes for a while. And then you age just a little bit, and suddenly something departs, and you're just a kid with cardboard wings.
And you feel kinda dumb, and you trash the wings, in part due to shame, in part because cardboard is so stupidly inadequate, it only makes the longing worse.
That was then, this is now. In a way, what has animated my creative endeavors (or, to be honest, the ineffective, flailing pretense thereof), I realize, was the hunt for wings that wouldn't feel stunted so, metaphorically speaking. I'm groping in the dark here, I realize, to express something I'm still mostly confused about, but I hope you get the gist of the idea?
So, anyway, why all the blathering? Well, I turned 34 last week, and suddenly, for no reason I can fathom, it's like being that age again, overnight.
No shit. I misplaced all of the world's magic. Again. It'll turn up sooner or later, I'm confident, but dude.
Aging: not cool.
Jan. 3rd, 2011
01:56 pm - Happy new day.
Happy new day.
Happy new year, too, I guess; so the ritual goes. It feels kind of nebulous to me right now. Tradition aside, why quantize happiness allotment by year? Maybe happy new month concentrates too much happy, and happy new decade, not enough. Maybe it's just that we're so used to sequencing our lives along that frequency of roughly 3.17x10-8 Hz, now we're caught up in the habit and ritual.
At what point does it turn so ritualized as to become meaningless? I've received some 'happy new year' SMS from unknown numbers, presumably mistakes. Did I unintentionally misappropriate the happy meant for someone else?
Happy new day! We'll see about tomorrow, tomorrow.
Because, let's not delude ourselves. There will be glorious days and crappy days. I wish for the former to outnumber the latter, for me and for you, but 15 billion years into its existence, reality remains stubbornly impervious to the most fervent wishes.
Happy new day! Or maybe not. Crappy days occurrence starts on Jan. 1, so maybe today will one of those days. I can't tell.
But, and here's what I'm getting at, I'll be there, today at least. If today is to be crappy for you, well, that sucks; but I'll be there, and I'll try, with a word, with a hug, to help see you through it, if I can. It's not a lot, I know, but I still think it's important and worthwhile. Happier new day, slightly so, if it is in my power.
Maybe, with any luck, I'll be able to make a tiny little bit of difference, and keep at it during and beyond the course of a given ritual time period. I can endeavour to try.
Happy new day.