Responsible parenting and leadership are a start. In between reaching for the sky (Toy Story rocks).

Screw the darkness. I prefer the lightness of Pop.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

The guy in the clock tower


It's like random sniper fire from a clock tower. At least, that's how it feels.

The rapid-fire bullets hit me all over: the news of my dad, my mother's health, the fear of what we do wrong, global financial uncertainty, political extremism, civil unrest and incivility, domestic violence, the sudden weather change, unexpected business, unexpected bills, family colds, family cries, Daylight Savings time, choices and lack thereof --

As I lay there bleeding out hope (metaphorically mind you), I drift in and out about what to do, what to do, what to do. It's only matter of moments, an imaginary one-hour shift, but time is relative when you're riddled with emotional holes clean through.

My pulse slows and I close my eyes.





I say a prayer for us all. Tiny hands push on my chest.

"Daddy sleeping!"

I hear giggles and snickers. A snotty hot nose sideswipes my cheek. More tiny hands on my chest, then giggles.

[clear - zap]




I open my eyes. Smiling B-hive angels lay hands on me. Mama angel bends down and kisses me.

"I love you," she says.

I pull her closer and whisper in her ear:

"I'm taking out the guy in the clock tower."


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