One work thing, actually 2, I needed done are off the plate.  

Up well before 8 this morning.  8:22 Henry still asleep.  Told kids we’d do Daddy breakfast but I don’t think they’ll go for it as they seem far too eased and cozy in the loft.

Pumpkin patch later, not sure exact time.  School tomorrow so early to bed… day will fly by quicker than I wan tit to, that’s for sure.  Short posts today, mostly notes or pictures I’m sure.  One of the pillars of my blogging instruction should it really take off.  Not quoting Shakespeare with the brevity is all wit blather, but to be concise is to be convincing and wholly composed.  Something like that, what I just wrote in AE notebook.

Emblazoned in this new station, this new life, writing life at the loft.  Happiness and gratitude edifices like labyrinthine declarations and a stretch of architecture’d affirmations.  No more complacent, no more being held in place by some people and their stewed prune views.

My prose, pugilistic this morning, ‘cause I think I’ve bloody deserved it.  New axioms tabby accents. But, peace… all to positive pulse.  Emma smiles at me, says she love me.

“How much?” I ask.

“One hundred.” She says.