A few hours, a weird nap, a diaper change for the little guy and a lot of 90’s trance music later, I return fresh and caffeinated with a thought of something interesting.
Seeing as my kind apparently goes to a school that defies gubernatorial orders and is off next week, in addition to being able to write more things it has just occurred to my minuscule piece of gray matter than I will be able to at least attempt to sleep threefold as long as I am now. I probably won’t succeed, but that isn’t the point is it? The effort put into the thing counts. If I can even lay there awake and gt my brain focused that cuts down on all kinds of pain later int he day when I am foggy and out of sorts and the like. While not El Dorado, it is a pretty decent boon nonetheless.
I am going to immediately, upon conclusion of this, add to the series I have started, namely The Card and The Leader with at least one one-off story thrown in there because my brain doesn’t feel like a pool of mushy goo right now and I can express the innermost desires of my Id to the world in the form of badly contrived and barely concealed metaphorical stories.
Or something like that at least.
So, I am sitting here listening to some heavy techno music. Why? It is easily available on Spotify and repeat is my friend when I want to do the writing things and, importantly, it drowns out the bad choice of buying my Elder Duck Call Of Duty because he has, truly, been awesome the last few weeks during all of this. I am not worried about the differentiating thing some parents think about or the evil bad bad others do. Nope, it is just fucking loud as hell so I just need to make my music louder which, in case any of you have forgotten, techno will always win at.
I have a little dude neatly curled into a serpentine ball at my feet staring at the Universe and happily doing nothing at all, poised to strike in an instant the moment coffee is needed and he can tail me and “help” me with the said procedure. The variant of help he provides is counting, meticulously, the amount of anything and everything I can possibly do while I am in the kitchen. I must admit when I am in there with him and I don’t hear certain numbers I actually question and see if I have done all the steps I am supposed to have done to make said coffee in the most palatable and delicious ways.
The rest of the house, and in fact most likely a decent chunk of the Eastern Seaboard, lay in sleep still. The traffic flows interrupted by the pandemic and the cycle of noise around the entire globe awkwardly skipping a beat these last few weeks and the next few months to come. I suppose the hippie in me is happy that we are dumping less of this, that and the other thing into the oceans or into the air, but there is also the pragmatic part of me who wonders all sorts of things about economic backlash and the inevitability of depression-like measures.
However, I shall not let that cloud over my day. I have my babies with me, we are all healthy and at this point, nothing is more important than that single fact.
Stay safe, #StayTheFuckAtHome.
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