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.”