The thing we all hate about winter, myself included I suppose, is the violent weather change from the near summer temperatures we have had to the now winter like temperatures we are experiencing today. The cold doesn’t bother me. My predilection for wearing shorts in a blizzard is an often quoted tale of the bogeyman in the night told to children who don’t think they need to wear warm clothes in the winter. No, what bothers me, and by me I mean specifically the delightful neurological events that are called migraines, is the the air pressure. If it is too high it hurts, if it is too low it hurts, if it switches too fast it hurts, etc.

Yesterday was a delightful example of that kind of day and that is why I didn’t write anything as I was trying to hold my brain in with my left hand and pressing my forehead in with force as to make everything stop. For the record this did nothing at all and only caused me to have an awkward hand-hickey on my forehead for several hours before it faded away, blessedly before I had to go and mingle amongst unwashed masses of geriatrics at Wegmans on a Friday afternoon.

I am not feeling particularly awesome today mind you, but it is a Saturday and I have a few minutes to kill before I zombie-watch college football until I go to bed tonight, so I thought I would fill you in with the salacious smatterings of the world that is me and the thoughts I have on such vastly important things like YouTube videos, old women in grocery stores and, of course, Duck Warfare.

Whilst watching a YouTube video last evening, I had a moment where I needed to talk to my best friend, and, not being able to do so because of the late hour, decided to record a message to them. What was said is not important to anyone but them, but what is important I suppose is that inspiration to tell someone what they mean to you is a magical thing that happens everywhere if you know how to look for it and don’t assume it is a miraculous and once-a-month thing.

There are far too many women who cannot see the items on the shelves wandering about the Wegmans of the world. While I am not suggesting we cast them off on the ice floe, I would like to, perhaps, suggest to people that if they are going to use Wegmans as a babysitter for grandmother while you go and have a few glasses at the bar you tell the poor woman that so she doesn’t look for you like a child in a department store when their parents have told them to not wander far and, well, they’ve wandered.

Now, lastly, Duck Warfare is a subject of which I am intimately knowledgeable. I am, at the best, a decent father. I pay the rent, I get the groceries, they go to doctors when they are sick and all of the base things that I am legally responsible for when it comes to the upbringing of the wee folk. What I am not is the Dad that does the things. I don’t. I never have. I am not the play ball in the back yard, try to build a bird house, anything craft based kind of parent. What I can do, well, they don’t want to learn. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, we all have likes and dislikes after all. I do computers, sonnets, and philosophy, not exactly the trifecta that will win awards or anything. I try, I do. So do they. I am sure there will be a middle ground at some point, most likely after this whole childhood thing has left them, where we will find a balance and at least get along with one another more than we do now. Ah, the joys of family.

Before I leave this delightfully gray morning, I just want to tell you all that there is nothing I would not do for you if I know you almost at all. Yep that’s it.

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