Sunrise
I sat on the porch this morning smoking an Olivia G, my first real cigar in many years. At 3.5 inches, it's a stubby little stick that at nearing an hour I was only barely reaching the halfway mark. My son was sleeping with his mother in our bed curled around each other in a human Yin Yang. The sun was rising and it was already 70 degrees. Summer is whispering hello early.
I haven't been around online in any real sense in almost two years. My life changed so drastically with Ethan, really with moving to Michigan, that I haven't been able to put together any real text worth reading about. Most of my daily worries look mundane on paper/screen, and while I find I can write fiction again. It feels like a selfish endeavor. Well, it is, but it feels like I'm crossing the line family-wise. I work 9-12 hours a day. I see my son for only an hour or so before he's being rocked to sleep. Mary and I have weeks where we are ships slipping by each other in the night, touching for moments, then gone.
But, it is a good life.
We are moving back toward the hill country in a few days, which means my daily driving will be cut in half from around 80 miles a day to 40. I'll be near a river for my morning runs and some occasional fishing. We also stand a good chance of getting a roommate in the next week, a refugee from Michigan and an old friend of Mary's. And then Mary's mother will be flying in for Ethan's b-day on the 30th.
Hectic.
And, I may be in the market for a motorcycle soon, so that Mary will have her own vehicle again.
Life goes on.
I haven't been around online in any real sense in almost two years. My life changed so drastically with Ethan, really with moving to Michigan, that I haven't been able to put together any real text worth reading about. Most of my daily worries look mundane on paper/screen, and while I find I can write fiction again. It feels like a selfish endeavor. Well, it is, but it feels like I'm crossing the line family-wise. I work 9-12 hours a day. I see my son for only an hour or so before he's being rocked to sleep. Mary and I have weeks where we are ships slipping by each other in the night, touching for moments, then gone.
But, it is a good life.
We are moving back toward the hill country in a few days, which means my daily driving will be cut in half from around 80 miles a day to 40. I'll be near a river for my morning runs and some occasional fishing. We also stand a good chance of getting a roommate in the next week, a refugee from Michigan and an old friend of Mary's. And then Mary's mother will be flying in for Ethan's b-day on the 30th.
Hectic.
And, I may be in the market for a motorcycle soon, so that Mary will have her own vehicle again.
Life goes on.