I am a man with my hands placed stoicly upon my hips, chest thrust proudly forward, chin held high, and an expression of casual confidence upon my face. Also I'm standing on a railroad track in front of a charging freight train, that's on fire, with giant metal spikes that will impale my confident form as easily as driving a nail through a stick of hot butter on a warm day. Or so I sometimes feel.If you are a regular patron to GWJ with an unhealthy predilection toward consuming my shabbily constructed throughts then you might be a little disappointed to know I'll be on hiatus for a while. You might also consider professional help. Read on, and I'll explain.
As many of you know, my wife and I are soon expecting our first child. Yesterday we found out that soon is actually better describes as really damn soon, as in no later than Monday. Having reached a point where I'm certain our physician fears for my life, because Elysia is going to kill me if she has to put up with being pregnant for much longer - I can see murderous intent in her eyes, and know I'm only alive to tell you about it now because I can run faster than her at the moment - we will be visiting the hospital for delivery on Monday if the course of nature doesn't send us sooner. Of course, this means that we are inconsolably terrified and spend much of our day making nervous small-talk at one another.
"Wow, it's much colder than it was yesterday, and did you buy electrical plug covers like we talked about?" I say, and wring my hands nervously looking from the clock to a crumpled magazine, to the cat who decides not to stick around us right now after all.
"I was just talking to myself about how cold it was. What it's like five, five and a half degrees colder? I wonder what the temperature is in celsius? I promise not to kill you by the way." She responds in what I can only term a threatening and unstable manner.
"Five degrees? No, according to the seven hours of The Weather Channel I watched it's six and four fifths degrees colder than yesterday. It's the coldest its been since May twenty-third, isn't that funny?"
"Hahahahaha, ouch." She has a contraction and thinks about killing me.
I try not to speak while she's having contractions because I understand that at those moments, particularly while I'm feeling the need to prattle on about nothing in a nervous Woody Allen like way, I am the most irritating human on the continent. Honestly, if I were her, I'd hit me with bricks. This only gets worse as we get closer to having a child who will depend on us to keep him alive, a concept so laughably absurd as to seem impossible. It occurs to me that much of my time in the near future will be dedicated toward making sure I haven't through action or inaction killed my son by perhaps putting on a diaper the wrong way, holding him the wrong way, or making a face at him that triggers a self-destruct procedure.
The long and short of this (ok, all long, no short) is that beginning next week I'm taking some time away from the site as we get used to having a small thing cry at and pee upon us. But fear not, I'll be back before you know it, and I'm leaving you in the capable hands of Certis who is guranteed to slander my good name with a degree of comfortable regularity, Sway whose new column 'shapes that scare me' should be a hit, Pyro who will continue about the voices in his head the encourage him to begrudge copyright law and use Linux, and Spunior who will continue to be German. I probably wouldn't trust these men with my life, but I would trust them to fix me a nice cappuccino without putting poison in it, so you're in relatively capable hands.
Play some video games for me while I'm gone.