I am a rock, I am an i-i-i-island, so is he, just a different one, you'll see.....

I haven't had much time to write lately; Stupid Daddy injured his back pretty seriously over the weekend, and between tending to him and the extra tending to the kids--damn, that's a whole lot of tending. (Thank you, I should be receiving my 900th credit card offer of the month notice of sanctification in the mail any day now.)

This injury continues the back trauma trend established early on in 2007. In January, Stupid Daddy herniated a disc. In March, he ruptured a different disc and had to have surgery. He went to physical therapy, acupuncture, and chiropractic after these episodes. He stretched and applied herbal pads and changed the way he slept. It seemed he was doing everything he was supposed to. "Yet," to quote E. from The Incredibles, "here we are, dahling; here we are."

His working hypothesis, which I tend to believe even though I generally think this New Age stuff is bullshit don't think along these lines, is that it's psychosomatic. His body is crying out because he's not in touch, on a regular basis, with what he's feeling. He gets angry and depressed because of these injuries, but he also sustains these injuries because he's angry and depressed. As a result, he's pretty fun to be around most of the time, and a serious basket case every once in a while.

I, by contrast, am really in touch with how angry and depressed I am. Which makes me not so much fun to be around all the time, but never the kind of train wreck with whom I am now sharing my bed. (Hi, baby! I love you!) And my back! Oh, let me tell you about my back. It is so healthy I could do handsprings down the hall--if I were ever in a good enough mood.

He's like Hawaii. I'm like England. I don't mean that he's laid-back and I'm uptight (though, come to think of it, this is true). I mean weather-wise.

In conclusion, I think it should be obvious by this point that my island is better. Cheerio!