Stop Being A Baby

I'm allergic to destiny.

Alright, so here are the things that have been keeping me from speaking to you:

• I began working at Mark's Work Wear House (I'm the model for the bib overalls)
• I began a comedy room with my protege/mentor Dave Burke
• I took da missus home to meet everybody (and help her understand what terms like 'da missus' mean. 
• I began eating bananas for the first time since I was about four years old. 

I hated bib overalls when I was a kid. I have no idea why.
Mom used to dress me in them and I'd cry and cry.
I guess that even during my pre-school days I had a strong sense of wardrobe.
An instinct that had little or nothing to do with bib overalls.
I can't concentrate here.
I'm at some dive that plays a lot of old-timey music.
Which is fine and all, but I can't write while I listen to that in one ear-
"Oh girl, I want to be with you all of the time.
All day and all of the night."
While I try to listen to my new Cinderella band in my other ear.
Which sounds nothing like this antiquated stuff.
It sounds much more, well, awful, I suppose.
But what can I say?
I love the sound of awful sometimes.
I have listened to this album end-to-end more than most.
While jammed up in that van ride to Sydney, I listened to it and nothing else for the entire trip.
The album's only 33 minutes long.
They're called Future of the Left and they really jangle my chimes.

I was feeding Rowan.
There are pictures that my mother and her friends would find adorable that I might upload...someday.
I fed her some kiwi with a spoon, and I just sort of flung banana corners at her (think Trivial Pursuit pie pieces).
While I was feeding her, I figured "Well, if she's eating them..." and began helping myself to some.
"Like stealing banana from a baby!"
Tasted alright.
I always liked banana-flavoured things.
I just never ate bananas.
I guess I do now.
All because of her.
Babies are miraculously powerful entities.
No wonder people spend so much money on them.
It's so strange to me, showering gifts on babies.
It's sort of like...I don't know what it's like.
It seems like the parents and aunts and uncles and stuff are trying to appease the baby.
They're bringing the frankincense. They're bringing the myrrh.
Meanwhile, the child would just as soon gnaw on the end of a stapler.
"Do you think the baby liked it?" they say on the way to their cars.
"Does this please you, baby?"
I don't even really understand clothing them.
But that's probably because I'm not much of a caregiver.
Anyway.
I believe in giving to children.
Personally, I'd just wait until they have the mental capacity to appreciate it.
The mental capacity to not poop themselves.
Yet, they do have this ability to transfix one's attention.
They can elicit change without saying anything (intelligible).
I see these babies that have to do with me, and it's only then that I can say:
"Oh, I was as they are. I get it now.
They weren't just photographs.
They were me. Once."