5:49AM.  Not as bad a night as last but still my little angel plum has her cough.  Finally, now, she sleeps, but that could and more than likely will be short-lived for the writing father so I target 100 words.  Just ONE. HUNDRED.  To start the day, pair with the coffee I made last night that gifts me from the tumbler.  Friday, which means nothing to a working father like me… but everything today told.  Keep going, I tell myself.  What I will lecture on heavily this semester— “Just act.  Thinking about your story won’t write it.  Just fucking write it.”