Worse, or better for,

I’m with these keys for the next few minutes.  Or so.  Paid today, but dollars already dedicated.  Have to tutor/teach on the side, but when does the writer have time?  Sell more wine, I know.  Circulate the blog… yeah yeah yeah—  So much in the writer’s head, luckily I have this quiet.  Jackie at school, Alice and Emma asleep, me in the office without coffee.  Just words and measurements, random conceptions and interpretations of my life and where it’s going.  But no nihilistic tides.  No head-to-cement doldrum.  Not this writer.  I said ‘worse’, or for ‘better’.  Well, I’ll take BETTER.  I’ll always take optimism and welcoming climate to exclusionary consistencies.

This week, exhausting the writer and beating him down in a way he’s never been.  With Jackie battling the end of his bug, then me with a full-on all-out bout, and now la petit.  Part of life, and parenting, parenting life and just LIFE.  I get it, I’ve embraced the cumbersome intricacies and—

Hear something upstairs.  One of them’s awake, either Em or Alice.  See the windmill or whatever that thing is, to my left, on neighbor’s property.  Not sure I’d call it a storm, but there’s definite weather on the other side of that window.  How will that affect tasting room traffic?  More than likely halt it entirely.  I anticipate more quiet, more writing, more brainstorming in the Carpe journal or Comp Book, reading more of Road to prepare for the 1A meeting, Monday.  Hate that I called in last night, but I had to.  Concern for le petit, thinking we had to take her to the doctor.  BUT… just a cold.  Doesn’t mean I’m anymore at ease or relaxed or just ‘fine’ with what she has.

Quiet harshly steers.