Short Doses

Here is an example of a fast joke. Pete (me) is not sure if he is ready for a child yet, but he wants to practice trying to have one more often. Entire joke is imprisoned right there and then I am allowed to move on to more noble things. Of course that quick gag is not much of a story, so let’s see if I can stretch the one liner and take the reader on a magnificent journey. I could slowly drag them up a mountain of suspense and generate a punch line of massive proportions. Maybe this works?

Last weekend I visited a former college drinking buddy who recently purchased some land and built a home on it. I am proud of how he has grown; he has a beautiful wife and even one of those kid thingamajigs. I just don’t share that much in common with youngsters as of yet. We can happily coexist for an hour or two since they are an easy audience if entertained in daylight. I could try out new PG material about girls I am dating with nice “personalities” or do some juggling. Not to brag, but I do posses the ability to keep oranges or grenades airborne for at least 11 seconds before they plummet to the floor. It’s a win win situation. Children gaze in amazement as the balls circle around and then find it hysterical when they tumble down stairs leaking juice or roll under the couch and explode.

Later, though, after the enjoyment has ceased, we usually have a difference of opinion of how to continue the evening and split on our merry ways. At night their fatigue leads to crankiness and screaming about having to brush their teeth. I tend to be emotionless about the tooth hygiene process and still have plenty of energy left for nighttime debauchery. The local bar always has something happening and as of yet, I still haven’t given up on the dream of picking up several hot girls at a bar and returning home with them.

Well, that’s when the problems arise. Unfortunately the needs of a young one trump my own. I could adventure out unsupervised and inebriated and it’s perfectly normal but leaving a child alone is typically frowned upon and possibly dangerous, even if left securely chained to a cushioned folding chair.

I recall my friend had to even plan my visit in advance by scheduling babysitters and placing the poison control hotline number by the phone. My preparation began the night before when I gathered some clean appearing clothes and shoved them into a duffle bag. The response time I require is minimal and my responsibility level is inferior. I’d rate it perfect for low maintenance plants that get thirsty approx once a week. Sometimes I am absent minded and water twice a week or sometimes I forget for an entire month, we are talking average here. I have this bad habit of remembering to water it at times when I am unable to. Say I’m stuck late at the office solving complex quadratic equations, donating at a blood bank or way too hung-over to mix hydrogen and oxygen into a watering can, I’ll think to myself, “Damn, I haven’t watered my plant in ages. I’ll have to spoil it with some bottled water next time.”

I have also tinkered with the idea of upgrading to sparkling water or a mimosa but have yet to follow through. In theory it sounds quite rewarding to the taste buds of the flora but I am nervous the species fails to share the advanced desire for complex liquids. In the meantime I will stick with regular tap water until nature takes the first step and clouds begin raining tastier liquids.

Anyway, with a kid you can’t be negligent for a week or two but make amends with a trip to the amusement park for roller coasters and stuffed animals. Sure the child would love the tradeoff because they are only able to process the fun part of the deal and don’t understand the consequences. In my new adult role, I’d be skeptical they have the preserving traits of a cactus and follow the teachings of Smokey the Bear.

That is not even considering the risk of social services arresting me for child abandonment. Discarded plants can live for eternity as compost and a dead fish can be flushed up to heaven without fearing criminal charges. A toddler though, society has a problem with disposing of ones failed regardless if I sign up for adult education course and promise to improve next time. I am a firm believer in learning from mistakes and would never repeat the same error, but something about children and second chances doesn’t flow that well with the public.

After putting this all in perspective I place myself as having the capability of caring for a camel, a robot with strong battery power, a carton of milk with a lengthy expiration date or a highly independent cat, possibly even having its own home. I’m confident a puppy would be able to survive in my care but probably not thrive and I anticipate lots of frustration on my behalf. I hear myself ranting things like “Can’t that dog feed itself, I do” or “Would it kill the dog to do the dishes just once?” I think as an overall, (drum roll please) I am not sure I am ready for a child, but I want to go out and practice trying to have one.

Looking back afterward, that explanation did not succeed the way in which I intended it to. I was perfectly satisfied with my short one line joke. Instead, I now exposed myself as an irresponsible loser who is incapable of providing for children because my top priorities are getting intoxicated and womanizing. In the one line remark I was appeared witty and nobody grew aware of any of my faults. Adding more dialogue is not in my best interest and I have learned a valuable lesson about conserving myself to short doses.

It had to start somewhere

After five spaces for indentation (which google deleted so now it's just a metaphor), I nervously begin the initial sentence for my first ever blog. For reference purposes, I am using an outdated laptop and since I posses neither a globe nor calendar, my estimations are that I am geographically located in the heart of the Northern Hemisphere and it’s a generic week day evening sometime in the middle of August 2007.

As of this second, I contemplated going to bed, but the damage has already been done. The vast emptiness of a blank, dusty, white screen has mocked me long enough about being too cowardly to go through with this. I have officially surrendered to the blogger calling despite my enormous fear of butchering every grammar rule in the English language and offending syntax worshipers across the land. Instead I have now concluded that the sooner I go to bed, the sooner the pain of arising the following morning for work will arrive. The better idea is to resist the urge to slumber with the burden of an unproductive night on my hands and stretch this evening out for a bit longer.

Wait. I take that back, and apologize for being a smidgen of a liar. I did complete some light sweeping of my wooden bedroom floor prior to this so the night is not an entire waste. I can be worry-free about crud collecting on the bottom of my glorious feet while traveling to the bathroom tomorrow morning, but that is no longer sufficient. I have decided to be extremely greedy and add originating a successful blog to my output tonight. Is there any time better then the present? As of right now I have absolutely no intention of informing anyone that this blog exists, so what do I have to lose? I am unaware if the person was wise or when it happened, but I am sure someone has said to me, “Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can accomplish today.”

Besides, if I go to bed at midnight as opposed to 1 a.m. or 2 a.m., will it really make that much of a difference? I am going to be tired tomorrow regardless, and it’s not like there are separate stages of tiredness. It’s either being tired or not. I have yet to witness some sort of ranking system where I can say, “God, I am slowly approaching Stage VI tiredness.” Also, if I ventured to work appearing bright-eyed, it would feel awkward and interrupt my normal flow. It may even result in a domino effect and disrupt coworker’s usual routine if they saw my shining face and heard me communicate using coherent words instead of a series of grumbles with my face pointing at the floor.

So, I now begin as a single man (meaning – no help from others, as opposed to someone not in a relationship), with a dream that has yet to die, a trusted sidekick plant perched on my window ledge beside me that I wish I remembered to water more often, and a laptop that has emphysema, since opening multiple windows causes sounds congruent to a smoker attempting to run a few blocks. I cross my fingers – but quickly uncross as it became quite uncomfortable to type properly and effectively. Now with mental fingers crossed, I hope that this is an introduction that is read worldwide and believed to be an important link in the evolutionary chain of literary genius.... Okay, fine, I’ll just be content if people read and say, “Well, it was certainly better than a punch in the gut or a martini glass splashed in the eyes.”

With that being said – and the imagination that this forward is about three inspiring pages longer with fantastic beginning insight that gets you pumped up like a great speech from the high school football coach before the huge homecoming game followed by sexy cheerleaders chanting your name as you step through the painted white lines – with great pleasure from a chair atop a shinning floor, I proudly present….Wait, wait, stop the momentum. I am panicking about being that arrogant since I haven’t submitted any entries and my floor, albeit clean, is still rather dull. Let me start over….

With the dashing back and forth, abrupt hesitance of a squirrel crossing a busy intersection, I now from a variation between quite proudly and embarrassed beyond belief – announce from a tidy floor, the launching of the new blog “The Road to Absolute Zero”