I’m not really watching the television news.  The TV is on, images flickering, sound rushing past my ears, but I’m not hearing anything.  I’m deep in thought, pondering the last two days and what today and the next will bring.

Karen is in the kitchen rustling up breakfast.  The kids are upstairs getting dressed for school.  I’ve ignored Karen’s puzzling looks.  Her looks seem to be wondering at my change of normal procedure this morning.  She’s been so busy, having gotten up late, that she hasn’t said anything, yet.  She will.  No doubt about that and I need to have a response ready. 

Thank God, I gotten back to the house and destroyed the note I’d left yesterday.  What the hell was I thinking?  It seems like a dream, now.  I’d written that stupid, cryptic note.  I’d packed all of my guns and ammo in the Escalade, added a few sets of clothes and off I’d gone convinced that I was doing the right thing.  I was on a dead on course, convinced that I would make history as the next Charles Whitman or Ted Kaczynski.  What lunacy!  Where in the hell did an idea like that come from?  Jesus, could this **** tumor be affecting me so dramatically already?  

Fortunately, I’d only gotten a few miles outside of town before realizing where I was.  It took me awhile to figure out what the **** I was doing out there.  I couldn’t remember what the guns why all of my guns were in the car.  I sat in the car, on the shoulder of the highway, for I don’t know how long before I had this flash like a still photo projected on the back side of my eyeballs; a photo of the note I’d left for Karen on the kitchen table.  Following that, everything else had come back to me and I got back to the house as fast I could.  Conscious of the fact that I might not beat Karen home, I’d broken every speed limit.  I made it by less than five minutes, but it was enough, except for the guns and the clothes.  That **** was still in the Escalade and I needed to get it the **** out of there before Karen left for her beauty appointment to get her hair done.

“Breakfast is on, gang,” Karen called from the kitchen, “shake a leg, everyone.”

I got up and shuffled to the kitchen.  The kids, Jeff and Melissa, storming down the stairs, ran by me.  “Mornin’, Daddy,” said Melissa.  “Mornin’, Pops,” said Jeff.  I grunted something but they were gone, under the family room arch and down the hall to the kitchen.

Karen came down the hall in the opposite direction of the kids.  She stopped in front of me, effectively preventing me from walking further.  She looked me deep in the eyes and said, “What’s the matter, babe?  Are you not feeling well?  You’re usually dressed and ready to charge this time of the morning?”

I shrugged.  “No, I’m feeling okay; just a little slow moving this morning.  Everything is fine, honey.”  I gave her a peck on the lips. 

She smiled.  A worried smile, her eyes still searching mine for the lie she felt had to be there.  Finally, it probably wasn’t more than a second or two she nodded and said, “You’re sure?  OK, I’m off to the shower.  You can manage, right?”  She knew I could and didn’t wait for an answer.  Well, normally I could. I wasn’t so sure this morning.  Karen disappeared under the arch and up the stairs. 

I didn’t do that because, because I couldn’t that’s all.  I just couldn’t do it right now.  It would ruin her whole day, it would ruin the kid’s day it would…..****!  ****! ****! ****!

Get the guns, now. The thought blasted through my head.  Yes, the perfect time.  Get the guns, the equipment and the clothes out of the car right now.

I rushed through the family room and into the adjoining garage. I slung open the doors and started hauling out guns, equipment and clothes.  As quickly as I could move I transferred them all into the storage closet.  It barely fit, but I managed to get everything in there.  I slammed the door and practically ran back into the house, into the kitchen and joined the kids at the table for breakfast.

“Daddy, are you going to work, today?” asked my little girl.  She didn’t look up.  She was concentrating on getting the milk carton lined up with the top of her glass.

Before I could respond to her question, hundreds of centipedes poured out of the milk carton, tumbling into and all around her glass.  I jumped up and grabbed the milk carton, pulling it away from her with one hand.  I reached for little Melissa with the other hand, wrapping my arm around her waist and jerking her away from the squiggling, poisonous insects.

“Daddy!  What are you doing?” Melissa squealed and then she broke out laughing as milk was strewn across the table, the neighboring chairs and floor.  She struggled free of my embrace and, still giggling, said, “Daddy, you’re so funny.”

“Hey, Pops, you move pretty fast for an old guy,” laughed Jeff, “but, what did you attack the milk for, anyway?”

I looked at the milk carton, the glass and all the milk.  What the ****! I thought. Thinking fast, I said, “Well, I wanted to save Lisa from that awful white stuff!”  I forced myself to laugh.  “Looks like I did good, huh?  Now, that nasty ol’ milk won’t get her!  But, it looks like I’ve got a mess to clean up before Mommy gets back, don’t I?”

Quickly, trying not to think about the centipedes or anything else, I reached for the roll of paper towels on the table and began mopping up the milk.  I’d just finished when Karen came back into the kitchen smelling of fresh soap.

“Mommy, Daddy spilt the milk!  He was rescuing me,” chirped Melissa.

“What?  Rescuing you?  From the milk?” laughed Karen.  She looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“I….” started to say but, before I could get any more words past my lips, Jeff chimed in.

“Yeah, and boy was he fast.  He grabbed the milk with one hand, Lisa with the other and I thought he was gonna slam dunk that milk right through the table!”

Another raised eyebrow look from Karen.  “Well, I was just playing around and…..” I couldn’t find anything else to say.

“Well, it looks like you got it all cleaned up,” said Karen.  To the kids, she continued, “OK, you two, time to get moving.

I lost track of time after that.  I remember seeing the whole family off.  Karen would drop Jeff off at elementary school and Melissa at kindergarten and then, go on to her hair appointment.  

The next thing I remember was lying down on the couch.  I had a splitting headache and thought I’d rest my eyes for a few minutes.