I awoke from my last dream of 2009 late for work and thoroughly perplexed. Whereas I could easily make up the commute time thanks to the fact that no one else was working on New Year's Eve day, there's no way I could make up a dream like this:
I was sitting at round table with the living cast members of Monty Python, Captain Kirk, Dr. Spock and 'Bones' McCoy. This table was spinning in front of us (picture the table as one big lazy susan), and there were lyrics printed on it. And the table itself? Well, it was the round part of the Starship Enterprise of course. And we were all singing the national anthem. Because that's what the rotating lyrics were.
This dream was obviously rife with symbolism, and perhaps a portent of the future. And way over my head. All I could think was "Cool table. I wonder if I could do that with the Millennium Falcon?"
But the ether was trying to tell me something. So when I got to work, I grabbed my tin of green tea leaves and spilled them on my desk. I had heard that Chinese fortune tellers can interpret messages from the spirits by doing this:
No luck there. Just looks like a bunch of leaves spilled onto a desk.
What about palm reading? On my drive home, I pass at least 3 palm reading places so there's something to be said about that, right? I opened my palm and looked intently for a roadmap to the future.
Good luck there, champ.
Come on! I've only got a few hours left to make sense of the year ahead. There are too many what-if's, too much to look forward to, so many open questions.
This is the first year where I realized that this parenting stuff is hard. Before this, Fury was malleable, and truth be told, he likely wouldn't remember my stumbles and starts as the guy who is supposed to be his moral compass and role model. But now? Not only has he formed a personality that is noticeably more than simply a reflection of me, but it is markedly different, and painfully independent. From this point on, everything I do will be firmly etched into his memory. I remember everything about second grade, and he will too. It's think twice before I speak. It's think once more before I act. It's showtime.
This is the last year I will be a parent of one. Everyone says that I will just fall into it with the new baby, but I am apprehensive. When Fury was on the way, I freelanced. I didn't have the paycheck, but I had time. I had time to go with Lisa to every pre-natal appointment (I haven't been to a single one yet!), time to wake up and walk him around the block at 5 in the morning to calm him down, time to take pictures of every milestone, time to be there for his first bite of solid food, his first words, his first steps. As it stands now, I spend 1 hour a day with Fury on the weekdays, right before work and right before bed. How does one split 60 minutes of parenting between a 7 year old and a baby?
Luckily and unluckily, Lisa got laid off this year. It at least ensures that one of us keeps this new baby from going feral. But it also means that this bill paying on time thing? It all rides on me. And not in the fun way.
So I'm looking for answers, for inspiration, for something that says 2010 is going to kick some ass.
In Gene We Trust.
I wish all of you a rockin' 2010. With pyrotechnics.