Nothing to write about today, nothing happened – I feel it appropriate to warn you that there won’t be much here today. Fingers to the bone, 6am to 5pm; feeling better for the effort but dreading getting up and doing it all over again tomorrow. I’ve decided that I’m doing 6am days this week, at least until I don’t have to anymore… which, considering next Monday is the debut of the material I’m working, will likely be every single day. Thing is, I don’t even present the material next Monday… in fact, I don’t present it until next Friday – I have the luxury of watching two folks present the thing before I even have to get up and talk to it. That, my friends, will be the biggest bonus – will make things much easier. The only snag in this plan is that the person debuting the presentation Monday isn’t as well-versed in the material as I am, and a good portion of the questions will likely end up being deflected onto me. Even still, I won’t be the one up in front when the tomatoes are loosed – at least not at first.
Sometimes, when this baby cries, I just smile. I’ll pull her little face close and feel her warm breath on my cheek. I don’t know why, but just hearing her “voice” makes me smile. I interpret little gurgles or blurps in her cries as attempted communication: “Dad, my diaper’s wet.” “Dad, I’m tired but I can’t get comfortable.” “Dad, please bounce me, I’m only happy when my head jiggles like jello.” “Dad, where’s your boob?” Sure, I’ll try to console her, sometimes after smiling down at her for a minute or two… but, those screams can pierce at times. The swing’s usually a good bet, if not that then I’ll take her into the bathroom and turn on the exhaust fan. Closed in the tight space with the lights out, the whir of the fan motor reverberates and fills the room with loud white noise – works like a charm. Must look funny, me standing with baby in arm in a dark toilet, exhaust fan humming above.
You guys know what it’s like to write every night (hint: you have to press the “play” button; context here)? I had a friend (and reader) mention once, in jest, of course, that they feel personally affronted when I don’t write. I know it’s a joke, but there is some sense of responsibility that’s been associated with the whole thing. I have no idea how many folks visit the page “daily,” or at some other regular interval – but I like to think I write for them. Those that log on and read every week or so, sure, I write for you too – but I wouldn’t bang out an entry every evening on schedule if I didn’t think someone was wanting new content on a daily basis. I like to write funny stuff, or interesting stuff, but sometimes I just write boring stuff: stuff to make paragraphs and fill boxes. Tonight is one of those nights.
All of my entries are pretentious and self-serving, aren’t they? Sucks. I have to go to bed now, I want more sleep than last night. Until tomorrow, friends.