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Platial | Who and What's Nearby
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For you, Katilleedoo
Today’s my birthday. I’m 34 years old—half way done. That makes me 34 to Katy’s 2. When she’s 18, I’ll be 50.
Last night, I was on the couch in my living room. Sometimes, Katy gets mad at me—she’ll turn her back and tell me “go on the couch daddy!” Once, I made her mad, and as I sat down to dinner at the dining room table, she said “no daddy…eat on the couch.” It’s funny, I know.
So I guess Katy’s “place” for me is on the couch. She spilled a juice box on it this morning. She was very embarrassed and ran into her room before I could say anything. I wasn’t sure if she peed on the couch, or spilled the juice box—so I went in and asked her. She said “no peed daddy—I so sorry.” And I said “you spilled juice, so what?” And then she said “your couch daddy—I so sorry.”
A little later she said “happy birthday” and then tried to ask me what kind of cake I liked, but I couldn’t understand her. Mommy had to translate. I said “whatever you like Kate.” “I’ll get daddy cake, mommy” she says to the wife. I had to go. I always have to go.
Anywho…like I was saying, I’m on the couch last night—and Becky (aforementioned wife) was yelling at me for something. I don’t recall what for. Well, last night—around 10:30—Katy starts yelling for mommy. She goes in there and here Katy say, “daddy put in my movie and turned on my princess light.” And Becky says “daddy’s nice huh?” And then Katy said “you screamed at daddy on the couch.” Becky said “I’m sorry about that.” Katy tells her “be nice to daddy, mommy.” When Becky came back to bed she told me her eyes were all welled up with tears. She said we just can’t fight around Katy anymore. OK then.
Now I’m writing this in the library at school with at least thirty people around…and you guessed it…I’m crying. I happy Katy. And tonight we’ll have the cake you picked out. Fuck school, fuck homework, and fuck anyone who tries to tell me there’s anything else more important than cake. There’s not you know. That’s as important as anything anyone has for me to do.
My place is where my place is—on the couch. With the person who protected me on my special day.
For you, Katilleedoo
Today’s my birthday. I’m 34 years old—half way done. That makes me 34 to Katy’s 2. When she’s 18, I’ll be 50.
Last night, I was on the couch in my living room. Sometimes, Katy gets mad at me—she’ll turn her back and tell me “go on the couch daddy!” Once, I made her mad, and as I sat down to dinner at the dining room table, she said “no daddy…eat on the couch.” It’s funny, I know.
So I guess Katy’s “place” for me is on the couch. She spilled a juice box on it this morning. She was very embarrassed and ran into her room before I could say anything. I wasn’t sure if she peed on the couch, or spilled the juice box—so I went in and asked her. She said “no peed daddy—I so sorry.” And I said “you spilled juice, so what?” And then she said “your couch daddy—I so sorry.”
A little later she said “happy birthday” and then tried to ask me what kind of cake I liked, but I couldn’t understand her. Mommy had to translate. I said “whatever you like Kate.” “I’ll get daddy cake, mommy” she says to the wife. I had to go. I always have to go.
Anywho…like I was saying, I’m on the couch last night—and Becky (aforementioned wife) was yelling at me for something. I don’t recall what for. Well, last night—around 10:30—Katy starts yelling for mommy. She goes in there and here Katy say, “daddy put in my movie and turned on my princess light.” And Becky says “daddy’s nice huh?” And then Katy said “you screamed at daddy on the couch.” Becky said “I’m sorry about that.” Katy tells her “be nice to daddy, mommy.” When Becky came back to bed she told me her eyes were all welled up with tears. She said we just can’t fight around Katy anymore. OK then.
Now I’m writing this in the library at school with at least thirty people around…and you guessed it…I’m crying. I happy Katy. And tonight we’ll have the cake you picked out. Fuck school, fuck homework, and fuck anyone who tries to tell me there’s anything else more important than cake. There’s not you know. That’s as important as anything anyone has for me to do.
My place is where my place is—on the couch. With the person who protected me on my special day.
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