How to make a drone; Or, GAWD, my parent's are the biggest losers!!
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Ok, well, it's been a while, and many thanks to those of you who emailed to ask what the hell happened. I wish I had a saucy anecdote about a 2 week brush with fame, fortune, babes, and booze, but alas sometimes life simply gets in the way, and we need to let our soapbox dust over.
Last night was the first night my 5 year old has slept straight through in about 4 weeks. He developed a rather acute fear of just about EVERYTHING shortly after starting Kindergarten; he rarely goes quietly through such stages in his life. Frankly, I think it's part of the Master Plan that every kid has programmed into the depths of his subconscious for the sole purpose of breaking down the will of his parents. Sleep deprivation has been shown time and time again to be an effective tool for the purposes of information gathering, manipulation, and keeping your parents out of your grill so that you might continue to strive toward your ultimate goal; boss. Think about it for a second. You know that your parents were probably not the foot sliding, grumbling drool trolls that they later came to be about the time you turned 12. I'm here to tell you that they were once as bright of promise and laughter as the first 32 seconds of an Ellen show. The human animal simply isn't designed for such repeated abuse. Basically, we're all Ford's, not Toyota's, and repeated misuse of the equipment eventually causes the machine to break; starting with the outer form, to internal systems, and finally, a complete breakdown of the vehicles ability to run the AC with the radio on. How many of you have really had your Ford for more than 12 years without seriously considering what is was useful for in the first place? I thought not. You're parents aren't losers kids, they're just really fucking tired.
So, cruel agenda aside, the little trooper has been wrestling with everything from nightmares, to fear of abandonment, to an inability to pee alone without a shotgun riding along to forewarn against impending monster attack while his pants are down. It's insane to watch what an imagination so fertile and expansive can do when it turns on it's creator; Chaos ensues. The biggest issue is that my wife and I are more likely to hear about what's bothering the cat through it's series of mews, grumbles, and sorry displays of sooo transparent affection than we are the boy whom we've spawned and raised in the cocoon of the suburban anti-hood. We get nothing, and we guess, and hope we don't screw it up; such is parenting. So, we've discussed, and consulted, and commiserated, and a plan of action was made, and executed in Brady-style exactness. Too what end, we don't know, but as I said before, he never goes through these things quietly. So, we wait, and wonder, and comfort; but we don't sleep.
