Thor and the Temper Tantrum

Around 13:00 on Monday afternoon Thor got into a snit. He did as he always does when he has a temper to burn off. He climbed to the top most turret of Valhalla and flung a spear of lightning into the clouds. Feeling better, he went downstairs and had a nap. I doubt he spared a thought for that spear of lightning shooting its way through the atmosphere towards some arbitrary human.

That arbitrary human was me. The lightning struck at about 13:00 on Monday and lodged itself firmly in my temple. It pulsed there for a bit and then shattered into a million smaller lightning shards, each which embedded itself in my brain tissue.

Dazed and confused I struggled helplessly with the childproof Myprodol packing at last freeing two of the elusive little pills and dry swallowing them in a single gulp. An hour later it became clear that these manmade gizmos were no match for Thor’s fury. I took two more. And then I took two more and a Valoid to stop the seasick lurching of my stomach. The ensuing dull ache allowed me to get some sleep.

Day 2 dawned and I was convinced I had won, but it turned out it had only retreated to plan and strategize a new offensive, lulling me into complacency. When the second wave hit, I prayed to the Gods to let me die and end the pain. Either they weren’t listening or they just don’t give a damn. I downed the rest of the Myprodol. I may as well have eaten a box of Smarties.


I lay in bed watching the purple bolbs edged with a acid green halo, ooze and pulsate around my eyelids. I opened my eyes when the lightshow started me feel ill again.

By Day 3 I was exhausted. I admitted I could not do this alone. I slouched into the doctor’s office and mumbled at her incoherently for awhile. She must have got the gist of it for I walked on with new scripts for my Thyroid medication, the lack of which must have lowered by tin foil brain shield against Thor’s little tantrums, new anti-anxiety medication and some Xanor to serve as a migraine Agent Orange.



I have waited all day, lovingly figuring the blister pack in my pocket and waiting for this blissful moment when the pain will not ebb or gently recede, but explode into beautiful serene nothingness.

Gandhi and the Go-Go Crazy Bones

Question: What do Mahatma Gandhi, the suffragettes and a Small boy aged 6 have in common?
Answer: The active application of passive resistance in the face of domination.

In fact, Small boy aged 6 could have taught Gandhi a thing or two. He refused point blank to exit the car and make the walk down to his class. Unfortunately for him, I still have a size and strength advantage. I heaved up the planking child and carried him stiff as a board down to his classroom. There is no payback in the world for the looks I received on the journey.

I deposited him at his desk and desperately sought back up in the form of his class teacher who was nowhere to be found. A cannier negotiator than Small boy aged 6 there never was. We agreed he would remain at school and I would reimburse him with a Go-Go Crazy Bones. So at some point I will have to brave the Mall and unearth one – not just anyone – a Drago one that opens so you can store another one in his tummy. I prefer not to think of it as bribery, but more like incentive based learning.

I passed by the headmistress on my out and explained the situation. She reacted in horror that I could have treated my child thus and that he must ill and I must be some sort of sadist. Considering what she threatened me with if he missed another day of school, I thought it was a bit rich.

Regardless I now sit cellphone in front of me waiting for the call to fetch him. I have a feeling it is less illness and more a desire to spend a cold winter’s day in the warmth of his Granny’s house being pampered and adored. A feeling I completely emphasise with.

I spent last night in a hell of my own making. When I left work I felt a twinge in my temple and ignored it. Ah, the signals of Armageddon are so subtle ignore them at your peril. I did. By 20:00 I was screaming in agony, throwing up pain killers and cursing Thomas Edison for ever inventing light bulbs.

If I could have blown my brains out, I would have. If I could have made it downstairs to the kitchen I would have grabbed a steak knife and as the Bible says, plucked the offending orb out. By the time the blissful peace of ibuprofen washed over me it was 2am. I got to work this morning, pulled up in the parking lot and had a nap in the backseat. Bliss.