Just another manic Monday…

Like the Bangles song. (Although I always preferred Walk like an Egyptian)

Day three without caffeine. I’ve gone cold turkey since Saturday. So you can imagine how my day is going? In a nutshell, its not going well. Ha ha. Usually by this time I have metabolized about six cups of coffee. To say that I am presently ensconced in serious grouch would be a seriously dangerous understatement.  I also have a headache.

I’m compounding my woes by swearing off bread, dairy (which I initially write as fairy because of my blurry vision) and refined sugar.

703ebd8bb63aee35aa6d6836aca2d61a.jpg

I’ve (recently) decided that I have adrenal fatigue syndrome. And folate and B12 deficiency. (This is what happens when you read too many (fringe) Paleo books). I even went and had my first B12 shot over the weekend. And… in all honesty, I felt a lot better afterwards (despite walking a bit funny afterwards). That might just be placebo. Today however, is more or less a suicide day… I feel manic and discombobulated and I might bludgeon you into a coma with a oversize stapler if you were to walk into my office brandishing a Grande Cap and a Mars bar.

Speaking of which…

My eleven year old basset hound is either suicidal or suffering from cross species dementia (where he enacts the strange tendencies of the Alpine Ibex). No more staying up late to watch Animal planet.

I  had just come back from a friends fortieth birthday where two pints of Paulaner Weissbier had me feeling somewhat sluggish. (more than usual some might say) The wife and kid were at my parents house along with the dogs and my daughter was playing upstairs in my old bedroom. I took the opportunity to lie down on the sofa in the landing and rest my eyes for a bit. I was just about to doze off when I heard a noise that sounded like nails frantically scrabbling on roof tiles. Amazingly my alcohol addled brain somehow managed to piece together in a split second that the sound was that of a basset hound scrambling for grip on the roof tiles above my head. He’d wandered out onto the balcony, circumnavigated the railing and climbed onto the roof. Now he was coming down and was losing his grip on the steep pitch.

‘Jesus’, I bolted up, sprinted out onto the balcony and vaulted the railing with one hand coming down hard on the roof, my right foot going through one of the roof tiles as I landed. I managed interject myself between the edge and the basset hound and grabbed him before he plummeted to his doom. Post event I marveled how I’d managed this feat, not only in my slightly inebriated condition, but also wearing flip flops.

As usual he was dismissive of my efforts and decided the whole thing was a complete overreaction on my part.

randburg-20120622-00807.jpg

My Saturday had already started poorly with a reoccurring nightmare*. Only this time I wasn’t dreaming. The girl child had hauled an assortment of pots and… a colander from the kitchen into her playroom, upended them and was vigorously assaulting them with a signed Chad Gracey drumstick.

*the one where I only sire girls and they all the women in the house are drummers.

img_8495.jpg

On a scale of one to ten. Ten being woken up with a blowjob and one being woken up because your house is on fire, being roused by this cacophony at 5am is probably a four.

So much for my hopes for a young Kim Deal. It seems she is destined to follow in her mother’s footsteps and take up the drums. Although I have tried (repeatedly) it seems one can’t mess with destiny.

In other news I started listening to this.

unnamed.jpg

I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t even know about this book until recently. AND perhaps more embarrassingly that I only found out today that it has been made into a Steven Spielberg movie. (seriously, what rock do I live under?!?!)

Because I listened to Masters of Doom this entered my recommended list. Read by Wil Wheaton. Whom I now love. I looked at the reviews. Its weird when a book gets this many positive (almost to the point of rabid fanaticism) reviews. My skepticism bit flipped*.  ‘Yeah, nothing can be this good…’

*a John Romero-ism I will now use

I’m only about two… and a half hours in. But I may have to eat my words (again). So far I am thoroughly entranced. Can’t wait for my commute home.