Today promises stress.

Tuesday, when the cleaning ladies come.  I know, first-world terror.  I’m just saying that time is tight on Tuesdays—  but here I go, the writing father (writerfather, writerfatheradjunct) trying to do everything.. shower and get Jack ready, drink enough coffee to wake me up (up til 12-something last night studying other blog arrangements and whatever—).  Just need to breathe, meditate.. do shit differently.  So here I go.. into the day.. recording everything.  Would give anything and everything for a day off.  Why do I need one of those?  Writer, fathers.. we don’t have days off.  So give me your most direct shot, Today.  I dare you.