I’m drained from the day.

Frankly, I can’t believe I’m still awake.  After the email to students, I don’t want to do anything.  Going to work hard to keep with the inventory of this Fall.  Sipping a Lagunitas, and relaxing here in office after engaging in my new tradition of running the sprinklers for 5 minutes and enjoying a night’s capping on the patio.  All writings now forward, till end of term, will be in their own documental parcel on this laptop.  I back lean in this chair, think about the day.  It’s over.  Time continues to assault me.  I sniffle.  Is this allergies or a cold?  I don’t care.  I don’t have time for either, honestly.  I need to graduate.  That’s all sitting on the writer’s mind.  The day catches up with me, and I need to go to bed, I know.  Day at the winery tomorrow— my other identity, one with a view and incredible character with whom I work.  Sometimes when there I think, “Am I really here?  Is this me, now?” I mean, with that view, how can I not be dazzled and mystified to a certain creative stupidity?

Hear Jackie coughing upstairs— going to check.

Fine.  Just coughing in his sleep, asking me something about Emma, like “Do you have a blanket for Emma?”, or a vocal to that tilt.  Poor little bloke—  I will always be that father, the overprotective one.  OR, maybe just ‘protective’.  I don’t know how else to be, really.  Before anything, I’m a dad.  And I want to be that more than anything.  Even more than a writer.  OR, maybe just the same as my scribbled and syllabic, paginated identity.  Now I listen tot he quiet of the house as Alice goes upstairs to ready for bed and the writer remains down here in the office listening to the blinds at right be shoved and pushed and pulled and rattled against the framing.  What a night—  What a day.  First of Fall.  Now, retire.  Now more of anything, just collection.  This desk, again a mess, with Jackie’s firetruck and Alice’s water bottle atop.  Reality magnified, mathematical with geographic swirlings in my story—  This very much could be my exhaustion talking.  But that’s truth, right?  Isn’t that what any author should aim for?

I rub my eyes, and am done.  DONE.  Going to watch the news, finish this Lag’, and be done.  In bed.  If I were on the Road right now, I’d be in the same perceptively reflective frame.

2 thoughts on “I’m drained from the day.

  1. M>y goodness, after reading your posts from this past few days, I’m exhausted. **snort! How do you do it? All the directions you are going in and then with home, wife and children. WOW. I don’t think I’d be able to keep up with all that you do. I’m really impressed! 🙂

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