Watching Storms Form...Over America...

The good part, I suppose, is that my students seem to be finding me again: A girl who wants me to vet her script (which reminds me that I never did get around to doing notes for that other script someone gave me just before or after Cal was born) and lots of free career advice, a guy who wants me to essentially commit to doing unpaid copy editor work on a webzine he’s putting together. Another guy who claims to have a project he wants to discuss—but if I recall correctly he has problems, so I’m not sure how much of that statement I should take on faith. Or how far I’m interested in investigating the concept, generally.

Did the Mommy-lunch and playdate group today, without apparent repercussions. Aidan the crawlin’ guy was there for the last time (he and his mother are moving back to Calgary on Monday), and Cal kept following him around, grinning and making that lizardy hiss of pleasure, trying to force him to acknowledge his own hard-earned mad crawlin’ skillz. Then Mom spotted me a workout, to which I added yoga for the first time since getting sick, after which—in quick succession—Steve came home, benet came for dinner, and Cal had a screaming meltdown. He’s asleep now, thank God; if we’re lucky, things will stay that way for as long as possible. Because Christ knows he needs it.

Said Steve: "I’ve never seen anybody fight so hard against sleep." And neither have I…but I bet Mom has.;)

So now I’m writing this, in lieu of trying to hammer at Blood From The Air again. I have a good and specific idea of how the next section of Chapter Four is supposed to go, but it’s hard to think my way back into it again—I keep worrying about the next chapter, the chapter after that, etcetera. But I just have to make myself stop that, and get the fuck back on.

And on that note…