Being God, not unlike being John Malkovich

And blarb blarb blarb.  I had a baby.  I get one hour of sleep between slapping a boob into said baby's mouth.  And how was your day?

Anyhoo, sometimes random thoughts enter my delirious head while the above situation is happening.  Also, I really hate that guy in New Jersey for making me regret every time I use the word 'situation.'

I just told Phil I have to use the bathroom, to get him to take the baby.  Instead, I'm typing this.  I lied to my husband to tell you these things.  APPRECIATE MY SACRIFICES, PEOPLE.  Also, I really do need to use the bathroom.

So, here is what I was thinking.  I really like the new doohicky thingamajig that my local news station spent a gazillion dollars on, just so that I could know, to the street level, where a storm is.  I've been using this website for a week now, during heavy storms that have bordered on apocalyptic nightmares.  This is how exciting this has been for me:

S:  "Behold, and the rains shall come henceforth in yea, oh these many two minutes."
P:  "Wuh?  Barble barble mulbah."  (He doesn't sleep either.)
S:  "Look to the west, young man, and ye shall be rewarded with wetness."
 (Rains arrive, much to Phil's amazement.)

I'm like a female wizard, which is what Phil calls those old hippy ladies at street fairs who wear loose caftans and have flowing gray hair.  I'm Hermione Granger, correcting that ginger kid with "Levy- OH- sa!"  I'm a mother-effin' deity, man.  And sure, I'm a wolf in milk-stained clothing (er, uh...) who just revealed my bag of tricks, but oh well.

This reminds me of something I received far too much pleasure from doing while traveling the nation in a beat up VW van (with a snazzy dot-matrix looking photo of a trout jumping out of water on the side window) when I was a kid.  When you travel through Texas or New Mexico with a family of vagabonds, led by a father who refuses to play the radio, much less install a radio in the vehicle, your thinking can become a bit cloudy during the insane amounts of boredom that flow over in your overactive child noggin.  I used my female wizardry on my sister, and it was deliciously evil.

S:  "I know something."
M:  "No, you don't."
S:  "See that bridge up there?  The one over the highway?"
M:  "So."
S:  "It's 13 feet, 6 inches high."
M:  "Shut up."
(Wonky van passes the bridge, with a sign on it that clearly states 13 feet, 6 inches.)
M:  "Whoa..."
S:  "That's right.  I am awesome."
(Twenty miles later...)
S:  "That bridge is 14 feet 10 inches."
M:  "Nuh uh."
S:  *smirks over the pending, crushing defeat of her sister*
(Wonky van passes the bridge, and lo, S was right.)
M:  "No way.  How did you do that?"
S:  "I am awesome."


I'm not sure at what point she ever discovered that, when she wasn't looking, I was secretly reading the signs posted on the road that precede the bridge by about a quarter of a mile or so, but it was wicked fun while it lasted.

And now I use the bathroom.