The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

The hamster was eaten by the dog.  The dog died.  The children moved out.  Debbie is on a train to Chicago.

I am home.

Alone.

For a week.

This is the stuff dreams are made of.

(Disclaimer (aka:  The Fine Print)  I love my wife.  I communicate with my kids pretty much daily.  The dog was old.  The hamster should have stayed in his hamster house.  It's all good.  Whatever events unfold this week cast no disparaging shadows upon those I care very much for.  But history must be allowed to ... shall we say, "unfold," ... at its own pace.)

My DVR is full of the things that I love watching.  That which does not involve baseball or blowing stuff up probably starts with the words, "The Tonight Show With Jimmy Fallon."  This is not dangerous stuff.  Well.  There is that documentary about serial killers.  They say it is to teach you how to be one without getting caught.  I'll probably just delete it.  (Bwa-ha-ha-ha!)

Perhaps I will trade-off the car this week.  Emma The Mustang is up there in years.  Her rag-top is beginning to fray around one edge.  A new top costs $3,000.  Not gonna wait for that to happen.  Maybe that new Charger I've had my eye on wants to follow me home.  Hey ... it has a Hemi.  Do I need to say anything else?  Debbie would be so ... pleeeeeased.

Since I availed myself of the new Illinois law to obtain a "Conceal Carry Permit" I should probably invest in another fire arm that uses cheaper ammunition than my current model.  You know.  So I can be a responsible citizen and spend more time at the range.  It's the right thing to do.  Ever seen "Machine Gun Preacher?"  Me neither.  But it sound really good.  I've never been to Africa.  Can a guy leave for Africa on a Monday and be back before the next Saturday?

So much to do and so little time...

Woops.  Christopher just called.  Pork Steaks at his house in an hour!  Maybe I'll just stay a dad/husband/preacher-without-a-machine-gun.  Stay tuned.  The week is just beginning.