Our bambino ripped us from sleep at 5:05 this morning. I laid in bed coughing because I'm down with the sickness like the guy in that song by Disturbed, keeping my honey and the baby awake until I finally decided to get up and go to work early. It is too bad I didn't just get up and write; I am making progress (too slow to call it good progress) on what I feel will be a good story, one of my best I hope. "Water over the dam or under the bridge or however you want to put it." I just have too much to write and not enough time, and when I have time I don't always use it to my advantage. My wife says that I should be grateful that I don't suffer writer's block, but not getting the stories I have written is equally frustrating in my opinion. Enough on that I suppose.
There have been some changes at the corporate beast that writes my check even as it devours the world; my moody young compadre has taken a job for one of our customers and is moving on, bringing in a new inexperienced but enthusiastic person. It will be very interesting to see how it goes. I wish I could support my family writing.
R.
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