Mad World

So here I sit, unwinding the hours of maternity leave, calling my son little nonsense names (the Tidy Bowl Man; Pookie LaRue), singing him little nonsense songs (On Top of Spaghetti; he'll forgive me for all this some day, maybe), and intermittently registering the gravest disgust and sorrow over the existence of things like this (sorry; don't want to be that search result) and poor, sweet little babies who roll down conveyer belts wearing newspapers (in The OC, no less).

I find it hard to tell you

I find it hard to take

When people run in circles it's a very very

Mad world