The Morning Dew
Coherence. As elusive as ever. Putting ideas into writing as difficult as ever. Picking a topic and putting it to paper seems easy at 3 in the morning, but now that I'm staring foolishly into the void, I may as well be preparing for a trip to Mars.
Of course, the cold doesn't help, nor does the ongoing demand for parental vigilance. Excuses all, but I feel they're of the grounded type. The others, my old friends, lofty and spurious at best.
From Suburban to Urban to Suburban again. Full fucking circle. My hope with moving back to the burbs was to that I would make use of time, this time; to stare out the window only as a method for collecting thought, a brief interlude that would transition easily back into the work. Instead, I lose myself in the trees, the neighbors' houses, the distant sounds of a children's soccer game...I come up empty. My original intent melts away, almost nightmarishly.
The baby sleeps on the couch; the clock is ticking. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. TICK TOCK. When will the little bugger wake up? Nobody knows. Only a fool would place bets on that.
Poor guy has the same ick Daddy does. He has no recourse but to express dissatisfaction via the Wail. Any and all within shouting distance must change course to soothe, repair, correct, soothe, repeat. Run into the burning building, even if your own toes are sewn together.
My mind is trailing off already. Is it trailing or tailing? Regardless, Mission Somewhat Accomplished. I put something on "paper". The blog is started, opened, ready. The table is set for next time, next week, whenever. I did this before and it turned into nothing more than a half-assed diary.
Until next time...Selah
Of course, the cold doesn't help, nor does the ongoing demand for parental vigilance. Excuses all, but I feel they're of the grounded type. The others, my old friends, lofty and spurious at best.
From Suburban to Urban to Suburban again. Full fucking circle. My hope with moving back to the burbs was to that I would make use of time, this time; to stare out the window only as a method for collecting thought, a brief interlude that would transition easily back into the work. Instead, I lose myself in the trees, the neighbors' houses, the distant sounds of a children's soccer game...I come up empty. My original intent melts away, almost nightmarishly.
The baby sleeps on the couch; the clock is ticking. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. TICK TOCK. When will the little bugger wake up? Nobody knows. Only a fool would place bets on that.
Poor guy has the same ick Daddy does. He has no recourse but to express dissatisfaction via the Wail. Any and all within shouting distance must change course to soothe, repair, correct, soothe, repeat. Run into the burning building, even if your own toes are sewn together.
My mind is trailing off already. Is it trailing or tailing? Regardless, Mission Somewhat Accomplished. I put something on "paper". The blog is started, opened, ready. The table is set for next time, next week, whenever. I did this before and it turned into nothing more than a half-assed diary.
Until next time...Selah
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