Story of my life, innit? This blog’s looking like my teenage diary, large gaps filled with absent memories, a half-assed diary of mystery. Still, I’m glad I still have them both, as haphazard as they are.
I’ve learned exactly half of Xtreme’s song ‘More Than Words’ on the guitar. I spent half the time in college that I was supposed to. My house is semi-clean, semi-cluttered. I’m a half a job, a quitter, a loser even.
But that’s good, right? If there were no losers, there’d be no winners. You can’t have night without day, hey.
If I’d been more commited, I would’ve told you about Laughingboy’s brush with botox last month. Not just for those with more money than sense, the stuff happens to be quite useful it seems. I was only too happy to have them inject poison into my kid, in fact.
He mutated earlier this year, you see, from a little boy into a strapping young man. His schoolteachers panicked and swiftly ordered larger equipment to handle him, I rushed out to buy big-boy clothes and meanwhile Laughingboy suffered. Nature would have it that a child’s bones grow first, but their surrounding supportive tendons can take up to a year to catch up. Cruel, isn’t it? Seems Mother Nature’s a bit of a half-a-job, too.
That’s what the botox was for, to relax those muscles, to make them sleep and stop hurting while his cells multiply. You should see the difference it’s made! No longer frog-legged, no longer squirming in his wheelchair, he’s his old Laughingboy self again, but taller.
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again… I’m so glad he lives in the 21st century.