Oct. 26, 2003 - 5:45 a.m.

I remembered to adjust for the equinox fluctuation timewarp thingy. Or whatever they call it. The important thing is, I turned my clock back an hour before I went to bed last night. This is somewhat sad, since I'm on vacation and it doesn't matter. Why did I remember this time? Why didn't I remember all those times I either showed up an hour early, to the amusement of my co-workers, or an hour late, to the amusement of my paycheck?

But there you go. I'm now up at 4:30am, not 5:30.

When I was single and woke at this hour I would crank up the tunes, broil a few steaks, get up a solo foosball tournament. Oh, life was grand!

But now I tiptoe meekly into the computer room and plant my butt for 3, 4, or more hours (depending on her previous night's Chateau Screwcap consumption) and try to type as quietly as possible in order to be considered a "Considerate Hubby". No, it's not "Pussy Whipped". It's "Considerate". Shut up. Or I'll cry.

So I figured, it's 4:30am. NOBODY else is up. I hit my buddy list button to see who's diary I can leave annoying notes in this time, and...whoa, three people have updated in the last hour! What are they, vampires?

radiogurl may be buying a house for less than a bicycle costs out here. And she doesn't like prostitutes, apparently.

capt-anne watched Mr.Ed while falling asleep and then had disturbing dreams of her father. And probably doesn't think it's an Oedipal combination. (BTW, the marathon is still going on. Hurry!)

gofigure smells like roast Palmetto bugs and exploits children to scam money from rich golfers.

Meanwhile, I'm suffering the wrath of grapes. Drank, and drank hearty last night, my friends. And we have to leave for our last race of the season in an hour.

At least I don't have to actually race. A little over a year ago I fractured my shin bone when I dropped a motorcycle onto it. Hurt like a mother, but being a MAN I grinned at my buddies and didn't start sobbing til I got home. I shrugged it off as "just a bruise" for the better part of six months, right into the next racing season. Rode the first two races, did really good....but couldn't walk to the trophy podium at the second one.

That was some bruise.

NewWifey(tm) finally dragged me to the free clinic where the doc said I had a midline fracture, and my pigheadedness about ignoring symptoms has now ballooned into a bone infection and tissue something or other.

To make a long story short - not my style, but I've gotta leave shortly - I was not able to race all season, after that second event.

NewWifey(tm) has been her usual supportive self.

"You're not much of a man, are you?"

No, Wifey Dearest, I guess not. Tough having friends come over and see them eyeing the growing number of trophies, all of which say "1st Place WOMENS Class".

Invariably: "Where's YOUR trophies, Tom?"

Tom: "Well...I had this bruise, see...."

Ah, the joyous sound of friends laughing!

Well, finally, today I'm going to a race. My leg has healed more or less nicely, I've been using my spiffy, ugly-as-sin Nike Shox TL running shoes to build up stamina the past two weeks (they cost more than Radiogurl's house, too), and the bike is polished and eager.

But...I'm not taking the bike. Nope, as part of our club's by-laws all members have to spend one race-day per season officiating. It's the only way we can insure enough officials to hold the events each weekend. Since I haven't done my civic duty yet, it's now or never. So I'll be driving 3 hours deep into the New England mountains to cheer on NewWifey(tm) and black flag anyone who threatens her lead. Maybe I'll wear a skirt and shake pom-poms to cheer her on. Because that's the kind of man I am.

So, sorry this was so scattershot, but I'm literally typing with one hand while mixing steroids into NewWifey(tm)'s Ensure with the other. Gotta scoot! Let's have a clean race, y'all.......