|
|
|
{Reservations} {Tickets} {Map} {Photos} {Souvaniers} {Postcards} {Design} 2002-06-16 | 9:28 p.m. I'm logged on against my better judgement. Yea,yea I know... color you blank-starey. Also, this: I had a few minutes to kill earlier today, so I decided to I.M. all the people with AIM on my profile pages.... needless to say, almost none of you were online, it being a holiday, and a summer Sunday and all. And then, there's work tomorrow. o. joy. And then, there is Tim. Diary, Tim is my boy. He's more than just that. He is the boy. As a newborn, he slipped back into slumber effortlessly after I nursed him. His skin was petal-pink the day I dressed him in his little white bunting and took him home from the hospital. I enjoyed every single minute I spent with the child up until he reached pre-teens. Even after that, I can say that for every time he has been thoughtless and selfish, there has been another time he has been golden. If he hit one of the other little boys, he also shared his toys and kissed his baby sisters little head. If he mouthed off to an adult, he also got up to home plate, pointed to left field and then proceeded to knock one over the left field fence. He is funny as hell and dirty as hell and smokes Newports and cries when I cry. Today, his dad picked up Cara and Tiffany, but never asked if Tim would be around for a Father's Day meal. Tim couldn't bring himself to ask if he could please go along, either. And so another rediculous 24 hours draws to an end and I can't fix it for him. And he can't fix it for himself. We're gonna just let it be broken. Miss These? absence of life - 2003-07-28 |
 |
