I took a three day weekend for Halloween, which meant I worked harder than normal taking care of kids. Whether it was carrying a one year old unicorn for a mile while she's trying to keep up with the candy acquisitions of her monster brother, or I'm running a marathon at the beach with a deranged three year old in his sand-encrusted Flash underwear, I'm generally kaput most of the time.
Monday I just crashed. "That's it! Fuck the internet!" was my battle cry, and I fought a tangled war across the ravaged jungle of toys, ripped up Kleenex, and dirty clothes to flop down on the couch and read my 4th edition Dungeons and Dragons books.
Which, by the way, I have been obsessing about. I memorized all of AD&D, and third edition, so it's pretty obvious that at some point in the future I will have this rule set stuck it my head as well. It gives me something to think about when I'm picking granola out of the carpet.
Two short poems:
Apricot apricot
Better not, tater tot
and
Harmony warmony woo.
Harmony had to go poo.
She went in her diaper,
Then did I wipe her.
Harmony warmony woo.
That is all.
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