I have a headache.
I don't get headaches. I recall being completely puzzled by the whole notion of them when I went off to university and melodramatic claims about the intensity of them came from all over the place. Since then obviously I've had plenty. And this morning I'm feeling slightly under the weather. Luckily the kids are feeling delightful. They must be - seeing as they've been up and bouncing around since 5.45am.Their mother got up early to get some extra hours in before work. Before she'd even left my kids were rolling about in the Big Big Bed (that's my bed) debating whether to make the effort to go back to sleep. My son was far more awake than I wanted him to be, and I was hoping my calm presence would be an inspiration. Instead he suddenly became amazed that I have armpit hair. So he started yelling to anyone who would listen that he'd found some secret hair. He certainly seemed convinced that I'd no prior knowledge of it. This prompted his sister to take a look as well. Who then concocted a game where her Teddy bear thought it was breakfast. After a few minutes of that the two of them started off on their daily salmon-wiggling body-slamming routine of jumping back and forth over me until it hurts too much. So I got up.
I then noticed I was groggy and my head hurt oddly. I don't drink so it's not a hangover. But the humid air and the dog barking at the morning walkers didn't feel good at all. Add my daughter was particularly eager to eat Peaches and Scream oatmeal this morning. Which as fun and interesting as it can sound some days, sounded a lot like this today. Time and place dear.
Oddly during breakfast my daughter joking asked for pizza. My son thought this was hysterical. So I told them people don't eat pizza for breakfast. Then I remembered where I am. Pizza a cake for breakfast is an American staple. Doughnuts galore obviously. And not the nice ones filled with fresh cream and fruit. No - the synthetic dough crap with the white stuff that isn't cream - and likely would never decompose if left outside to rot. And the breakfast pizza idea is one of those things I just can't get my head around. Just look at this greasy nastiness -
I'm all for eating yesterday's pizza in theory. Not actually these days what with not eating wheat flour anymore. But breakfast pizza combines the greasy, lurid pukefest of regular pizza with the slimy, greasy puddling, chemical nastiness of cheap breakfast sausage in one offering. "Cooked in the tangiest pig sweat syringed directly out of their fat-folds. Now with added sebum!!" There's nothing quite as repulsive as running into a gas station in the morning on the way to work and seeing people - not even smiling about it because they know what kind of a statement about their self-esteem they're making - buying a slice of this crap, and a soda for breakfast. But at least that isn't the vapid, pointlessness of Tomato Pie - which looks like a Time Of The Month open-faced sandwich.
It's morning's like this that I project my irritation and discomfort directly onto my kids - via a loathing of certain things that the US offers us that I don't like. I'm not even talking about perpetual war, glorifying autism (which is what it seems like) or steadfastly opposing universal healthcare and claiming that is a noble, Christian thing to do. I mean the little things. My kids are never going to think these things are nuts. Take the morning walkers. Granted walking for some is exercise of some sort. But they will never recoil in alarm when they go to a mall like I did the first time - only to find a militia of people walking slowly around and brazenly claiming it's exercise. It's not exercise - it's walking. Like normal people all over the world do. And it looks eerily similar to the zombie walk in Bristol they now have annually. Except much slower. I think I might be able to fob off any irritation at that if the people involved in it didn't dress up as if they were running a cross-country ultra-marathon. Or the fact that they reward themselves for walking up and down the mall twice by buying a 32 ounce Mountain Dew and a slice of pizza. I cannot articulate well enough how culturally stunted a place must be that walking in athletic clothing for 15 minutes can be considered worthy of the title of exercise. It's during moments like this I can only look at a place that is so overrun by corn syrup that they even put it in the fucking gasoline and wince. Oh please take me back to England with it's Gregg's sausage rolls and their guaranteed 17% meat - the rest evidently made up of those chewy bits that can only be verrucas and toenails.
Anyhoo - moan, whine, complain. Hopefully I'll feel cheerier later. Maybe if I pompously eat beef jerky and sip on my 4th cup of morning coffee I'll start getting sunnier inside. It's grey and threatening to rain outside. Which I hope it does on the one hand as we have had one flirtation with rain in about a month. But that would mean no swimming class for my daughter. It would allow my son the chance to watch his Thomas the Tank Engine DVD though. The one that I thought had a very camp Welshman narrating it - until I realized it was Pierce Brosnan. How the mighty have fallen.