9 out of 10 monkeys believe they are not behind glass

I am a dumb ass. Floppy ears, pointy snout, hairy tail. Nick Bottom, I am. In love with a beautiful woman, yet I have a head of an ass.

“I must to the barber’s, monsieur; for
methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I
am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me,
I must scratch.”

Right now, it tis my knee, not my face that itches. Damn knee brace.

… my ACL is torn. And its been a week since it happened. My knee is still swollen and I can’t walk on it.

So I feel like an ass. And as an Ass, I can kick myself very well, thank you very much.

This reminds me of when I broke my arm in High School. People would ask if it hurt, and I would calmly reply that it indeed did not hurt, and that I planned on breaking all my bones in the near future to enjoy the sensation that it gave me.

So now I am telling everyone that I do, in fact, deeply enjoy shredding ligaments. I even encourage them to let me rip their ligaments so they can enjoy the pleasant sensations of crutchhood. Kind of like knighthood, but no queen, no swords and no fancy titles. Just a crutch and grimace as you think of your need sliding apart sideways everytime you take a step.

Eeeeeeee-aaaaw!

At least I have my lovely wife to care for me. Even though she is pregnant, no less. I like being married. I don’t understand how it can have such a negative connotation in today’s society. How so many people can look at marriage and say yuck. I guess I have made out lucky in that department.

So Nick Bottom fits me. A lucky ass.

I had a rough childhood. Nothing like I grew up in Compton and I had to survive gangbangers and all that. No it wasn’t like that. But then again, it wasn’t a childhood that I would wish on anyone or do over again. I know that I would become a different person if I had a different childhood, but I don’t know if that is a bad thing.

I love my mom, and I know she tried very hard to raise me right, but that didn’t change the fact that my father was your stereotypical deadbeat dad. It screwed me up. Maybe it was because of my age at the time he left. Maybe he was under a different set of forces in his life that I just can’t understand. I don’t know.

I reacted like any child would. I started creating fantasies to escape my life. Whole worlds that I could vacate my life for a while and get away from all the pain. There was a long stretch in junior high when I wish I could be a robot.

How silly is that?

And whenever I flex my knee and I am unable to move it, my recent injury reminds me of just how human I am. Whenever I think of my baby, yet to see the world, I am reminded of just how human I need to be. I won’t say getting older has healed those dark wounds from my childhood, but I am able to put them into perspective.

And I think that is what seperates me from my dad. That perspective is what will make me a good father. I am scared out of gourd about it, but I know that what I have learned is what a good dad is, what good dad does, and what a good dad is like. After all, I had a dad in my fantasies. And he was perfect.