a new level of psychosis
Some time ago, my son committed the Class B misdemeanor of playing with a Batman bounce ball in the apartment. His sentence, of course, was a scolding and confiscation of said bounce ball. I was on the computer at the time - aren't I always? - and slid the ball under my desk to keep it from being unconfiscated by sneakiness, something His Majesty thinks I don't know he does. I found that it made a great footrest. I'd prop my feet up on it, and when bored or working through a plot problem, I'd sort of roll the ball between my feet. My way of saying Om. A couple of days ago, he found the ball. And unconfiscated it. I couldn't exactly protest. It had been confiscated for months, far beyond the scope of the Class B misdemeanor. I can't seem to write. It's been a struggle the last two days, after at least a week of smoothish sailing. I seriously spent the last ten minutes searching my house for the stupid bounce ball. Even now, my whole balance is off. I've g...