On day two I get started on the entranceway, ripping up the
diarrhea colored school tiles and getting ready to paint the concrete floor.
We’ve done so much with this old house, but it seems like there’s still so much left to do.
Oh, well, I snag a beer from the fridge and get cracking,
chipping away at the tiles and breathing the sweet, tangy taste of asbestos.
The dogs are confused. There’s loud music, no kid, no wife.
Just sweat, beer and some manly grunting that may or may not sound like a
little old lady crying.
I’m hauling things out of the sunroom to the carport, and I
can just feel the testosterone in air. This place is like a frat house. A frat
house with singing toys and a high chair and aww…he left his little shoes. They’re
so cute in my hands. I miss his little feet, the little chubby rolls on his
arms and legs.
I hear a voice in my head, it's yelling. "Snap out of it you pansy!"
I hear a voice in my head, it's yelling. "Snap out of it you pansy!"
Okay, okay, I’ve got my shop vac out. I stare at it,
overturned on the floor. My son would be so jealous, he has a thing for vacuum
cleaners, the kid is obsessed. Another pang of guilt ripples through my
stomach, or that could be the tacos. Either way, I miss that kid.
I miss him holding the water bottle in my mouth while I lay
down on the kitchen floor. (long story, but sure gets a kick out of enhanced
interrogation).
I miss those little morning chats with himself when he wakes
up in the morning.
I miss…you know what, I’m not doing this. "Man up dammit!"
Smacking myself silly, i pull myself together.
Back to work…
Smacking myself silly, i pull myself together.
Back to work…
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