Eval’ 

At day’s end, I can only think of the next day.  So does the day really end, then?  Do all the days just blend together?  These are dad thoughts.  Thoughts of a papa who woke at 5-something to help settle a dissatisfied 10-month old where at first she wanted to play then she wanted to sleep, then she wanted to be held…  Guess it’s the most universal parenting symptom, exhaustion.  Am I right?  I’d have to be.  Every time I meet new parents or parents with a kid under a year old somehow the conversation always finds its way to sleep–  “So, is she sleeping?” I might ask.  Or, “So, sleep is a bit of an issue,” one new parent told me about a year ago, his daughter nearly impossible to be appeased, he chugging coffee faster than me at the copy machine.  The day’s still going, and I think about work, about the wine I just sipped and how I’m going to write about it, what am I going to say in Wednesday’s classes–  Think I just need a vacation.  I mean, how many of us say that?  Sleep does sound good right now, sinking into this couch after that last Cabernet glass.  No more wine, though.  Should make coffee for tomorrow as I always do.  My issue is time, not sleep.  But that was probably made more than blatant a few sentences past, no?  I’m scattered, as I’m too observant of time.  How can I not be?  My daughter changes by the day? Quite literally and confrontationally.  And Facebook provided a memory of my son from a year ago, a day where wife and I took him to get a midday treat on a rare day off for daddy. He looks so little, and now he’s like a 16 year-old I feel.  Bloody time…

The quiet helps.  But I have work to do.  And don’t think I don’t notice me beginning more sentences with ‘But’ and ‘And’.  Something I’m working on as a writing father whose attention is severed and minced into several particular parcels and in-the-moment provinces.  Then I think of sleep.  Getting up early? Writing about the wine and making it seem more than interesting, which it is but I don’t have the energy to make it now seem so.  “Seem so…” Seem so what?  It’s all confusion to me at this point, tired’ so am.  I feel like Nick in Gasby– impressionable and out-of-my-league with my dreams and thoughts, even the wine I sipped.  Not sure when the time, timeline, tocks and ticks last.  But it doesn’t matter when the writing papa woke.  Work to be done, did.  And kids to be fed.  So, no sleep.  Not for some wild amount of a while.

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