This picture was taken in the break room at work about two weeks ago. My wife and my three year old were having lunch with me.
Since this picture was taken, the store manager decided to start enforcing a rule that no young children (such as my daughter) are allowed in the receiving area or in the break room.
I decided I wasn't going to get on the computer all day. Last night Emerald and I decided that today would be daddy daughter day, something we do every once and a while where we make a list of activities for the two of us to do together. We made a list of about 22 different things to do.
This morning was great. We woke up early, me and the kids, and I made a big breakfast feast before we got down to working on the list. Work went fast. Play a game, dance party, draw, watch cartoons, play with the cat, make a movie, watch a movie, get dressed, and a whole bunch more. Damn, we were done with all but five things on our list by 2pm. And that's when Emerald decided she wanted to go next door and play with the new kittens. Now she's stuck in that quicksand house next door. And Isabela's went down for a nap then, too. She's sleeping with my wife who has been asleep all day. She woke up for about an hour to talk to her mom and get angry at me.
Now I'm here all alone. I don't even have my daddy daughter day buddy. So that's why I'm on the computer doing nothing except reading The Onion and listening to sad bastard music and feeling lonely.
These three neighborhood kids are playing on their bikes right in front of our house. The dogs are in the backyard and thanks to these damn kids the dogs are barking like drug dogs at Amy Winehouse's house. Fucking kids. I'm starting to sound like an old man. Damn kids and their music television and their snap bracelets and their Cabbage Patch dolls. GET OFF MY LAWN!
My wife stayed up until 3am watching the O.C. on dvd. This follows last week when she regularly stayed up all night to read whatever Stephenie Meyer vampire book she was on. Things are a bit rough between us but we're working on it.
Meanwhile, the sad bastard music on my iPod just keep coming ...
Isabela woke up. I think we're going to go next door and see the kittens. Anything to get out of this damn house, you know? My vacation isn't the greatest. It's actually very depressing, actually. It went from Vegas and sex to me alone. And wouldn't you know it, now we can't even afford to buy the new WWE wrestling game I was all excited about. We go from being broke to being rich to being broke again. We went into this vacation rich and then POOF we're broke again.
Wow. My life is pretty goddamn lonely, isn't it?
On monday I'm going to go to my doctor's office, get another copy of that sheet with all the phone numbers of the therapy people that I need to see. Then I'm going to call those bastards and get an appointment with somebody that can tell me if I'm bipolar or not.
Also, I'm lonely. I need somebody to talk to that's not this blog.
No offense, blog.