Friday, September 10, 2010

The Mexican Jumping Beans...

I think I'm losing my mind.

I'm sitting here at my computer, in my underwear, trying to write a simple, yet beautiful post, describing this conversation I had with my daughter about cancer and mortality and all I can hear is a cacophonous symphony made up of bad television, crickets, Mexican Jumping Beans and a cycling dishwasher, batting around an errant Tupperware.

My head is starting to pound.

Not throb.


I want to tear my own face off. Like that movie, "Face Off".

The TV is so loud that I'm beginning to mix signals and words. My brain is confusing my thoughts about cancer and my daughter, with white, middle class, sexy vampires and Dove soap.

I look back over my shoulder at my wife. Of course she's fast asleep. I want to walk over to her and say,


But I'm only a dick in my head.

I refrain.

I just lower the volume on the TV instead.

God Dammit!

Now I've got to contend with those crazy, fucking, Mexican Jumping Beans.

They're everywhere.

Flashback to the airport on the way to Disney World

3 Year Old - Daddy! Can I get those?

Out-Numbered - Get What?

3 Year Old - Those things.

Out-Numbered - You want Mexican Jumping Beans?

3 Year Old - What are Mexican Jumping Beans?

Out-Numbered - Those things.

3 Year Old - What do they do?

Out-Numbered - Jump.

3 Year Old - What are they?

Out-Numbered - Beans.

3 Year Old - YES!

Out-Numbered - Yes what?

3 Year Old - I want them.

Out-Numbered - Of course you do. Take one for your sister.

3 Year Old - YAY!

There's a little glass case of them on the coffee table behind me. I'm not sure what makes these fucking beans jump but they're jumping around like those creepy clowns on stilts, on pogo sticks.

There's another glass case full of them, hidden somewhere in the desk I'm sitting at. Like a ticking time bomb that never explodes.

I want it to explode and scatter my rubble halfway across the block.

But it won't.

I should only be so lucky.

God forbid I get rid of the Mexican Jumping Beans.

It wouldn't matter.

There's a tank full of lizard shit and crickets, the size of small possum, stalking my Bearded Dragon while it rests unknowingly on it's perch. I can hear those little fuckers from across the hall. I feel like I'm sitting on my front lawn.

Why is the lizard so calm? How can a lizard, surrounded by a chorus of crickets, still find serenity?

What's his secret? Bastard will never tell.

I'm gonna put the Mexican Jumping Beans in the lizard tank.

Maybe they'll annoy the fucking crickets...