Cords and Fleece

  Either I slept the wrong way, stared at my computer too long, or kicked a puppy in a former life, because today my upper back and neck hurts like crazy. Tonight I asked Michael to apply one of those medicated heating patches to my back. I must have missed the part on the package that said it’s like putting a wet rag in the snow and then slapping it onto your skin, because as soon as he applied it, I emitted a “Goofy Holler” which I’m sure the neighbors heard. (In case you’re unfamiliar with the Goofy Holler , also known as the “Wilhelm Scream”, check it out on YouTube . ) Anyhoo, the good news is that the patch is no longer cold . The bad news is that it feels like someone took a wire brush to my spine and then poured jalapeno juice all over it. The overall affect is somewhat like rubbing sand in your eyes to divert attention from the pain in your shin after running into the coffee table -- it works, but not really.  

  Well, not really. More like brown on brown . But somehow, changing my blog -- even if it’s just the title/address -- makes me feel a little like I’ve dyed my hair chartreuse. I’m excited for the change, but what will people think? Suddenly I feel like it’s 9am and I’m standing outside the door to my office, staring at my neon reflection in the window, and I’m nervous . I open the door, hoping the receptionist is in the bathroom and won’t notice as I slip into my cubicle. Deep breath... “Good morning,” she says as I enter. “You died your hair.” “Yes! Yes I did!” I say with extreme enthusiasm, as if my enthusiasm for green hair will rub off on everyone around me. When she says nothing, I start to sweat. I don’t want to have to justify what I’ve done, but suddenly the explanations pour from my mouth, unbidden. “Uh.... well. You see I thought it would be... fun! ... to do something a little different. You know? To start fresh ,” I say, nodding, because if I nod, perhaps she will nod. Yes

  It’s morning. “Lizzy, you have to get dressed now if you want your sticker today.” “Did you do your homework? You have to bring something that starts with the letter ‘O’.” “If you don’t get dressed, then you have to go to school in your pajamas and you won’t be allowed to play outside.” “Leave Henry alone -- he’s under the table because he wants to be alone.” “Did you find your Sharing Day item?” “Lizzy, I’ll help you get dressed, now -- but you’re not getting a sticker.” “Have you thought about the clues you need for Sharing Day?” “No, you don’t get a sticker for getting dressed eventually -- you get a sticker for getting dressed without making a fuss, first.” “Can you think of a better clue than ‘it’s orange’?” “Don’t forget to brush your hair.” “No, you can’t eat your Sharing Day item... or poke holes in it.” “Where’s your jacket?” “Lizzy! You forgot your Sharing Day item!” Elizabeth is loaded into her car seat, holding her breakfast baggy in one hand and her Sharing Day item in

  A simple request: “Hi, could you pick the girls up at noon instead of 1:00pm?” Leads to this: “WHY THE FUCK DO I EVEN TRY!!!” Followed by me hurling my cellphone at the laptop and throwing myself onto the couch, groaning. “What’s the matter?” Michael asks and comes into the living room. He’s brave like that. “WHY DO I EVEN TRY?!” I yell. “Every time I gather myself to write, something gets in my way. It’s like the Universe is trying to tell me to stop. And for the last few weeks I’ve tried to ‘let go’ and ‘go with the flow’ and ‘meditate’ and all that CRAP. I’ve tried to realize that perhaps it’s not time to write. That instead I should concentrate on my family. Or work. Or being absolutely still. But I want to write ! So I try, and then something stops me. Work. Family. Christmas. A cold. Some event. Every time. EVERY FUCKING time!” Michael tries to be helpful. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll pick up the girls.” I take a deep breath. “Because I want to see them. I want to see how

  HYPOTHESES A. Having a reasonable point (i.e. we have lots of debt and we need to pay off our bills...) does not give one the right to be a snotty-ass. B. Insecurity does not give one the right to be defensive and impractical. C. One acquires more flies with honey. D. Politeness aids digestion. EXPERIMENT #1: UNCONTROLLED Husband and wife discuss money issues. They are, for the moment, content. Two minutes later... [ Scientific Observer turns away in disgust at childlike behavior... ] Asshole jerk-off , thinks the wife. She is frustrated. This debt is like a vice around my balls and I want it to go away! Doesn’t anyone get that?! thinks the husband. He is frustrated. Husband has heartburn. Wife has heartburn. Scientific Observer has heartburn. EXPERIMENT #2: POLITENESS ADDED Husband and wife discuss money issues. They are, for the moment, content. Add Politeness... "Could you give me the money from last night so I can deposit it," the husband asks nicely. "Sure. It