Kids picked up by their mother, and the quiet cuts.  


It’s not pleasing.  This is what I’m talking about, or was I believe yesterday – With your kids and ever to have some alone time then when you do you’re in sorrow mud.

Sipping coffee, on snack shack duty at 11:15 to 2:15.  I’ll be there at 11, takes about 15 or so minutes to get there.  After the shack, back to loft.  To clean.  The kids are actually cleaner than I give them credit for.  It’s me who could be a bit more speedy in cleaning up after them.  Honesty, there you go.

After cleaning tonight, office.  Wine writing, business ideas and planning next week in AE story.  Not sure how much longer I have to live in it, honestly.  I know I’m continuously fed support and encouragement but for what purpose.  I sound like a sales cynic, but it’s what I’m juggling this morning.

Still need to find one thing – Could be in wild box, or…..  Who knows.  Wine and the ideas in this book and others, first shorter than ones that follow and not just about wine to be sure but a realized and tangible pulse.

Allowing no more distractions from my work.  NONE.  From any theatre, quota or the shift.  To be sure the most consuming crosses in my composition – 

Deaf to their accusations

Set in my elevation

Too hungry to be complacent

Such nay-say kept far adjacent 

Short verse from car ride yesterday afternoon to get big kids.  This needs to be set as my ideological and cell-map flag.  Who I am, my empirical immediacy and tangibility.

10:09… huh, thought it was later than that.  Friend asks me how my time was with the kids, I tell her, “So much fun, but exhausting… OMG… Emma and Jack are like the Bosnians and Serbs, and Henry is like an adorable Taliban.” I have to laugh, not only at the truth of it but what I said.  Huh… maybe I can see with comedic dimension and sense more often.  Not get so stressed when some people say what they say, act how they act, then act like they never said or did anything.

Dad:  “Mike, I mean…. You do have to find the humor in this, ‘cause they’re hilarious…”

What sort of duty am I to be placed on at the snack shack, or snack stand.  What is it called?  Is there technicality to the term?  Is there terminology surround the small hut where you fit five or six people to prepare the most basic of snacks and foods?  Not sure I’d call hot dogs meals.  I don’t want to be on the goddamn register, that’s for sure.  Maybe putting dogs in buns, or putting shit on those trays, grabbing Dorritos or Gatorades (had to look up spelling on both).  I’m already laughing… I’m doing the most soccer or baseball parent thing EVER today.  My son Jack is incredibly enthused as is Emmie, already asking me last night if I’ll hook them up with free shit.  “Of course!” I said.  For now.  They’re paying that shit back… NEVER.