A Book of Tongues: THUD

1,095 words; now up over 46,000 and well on my way to 47,000, overall. Chapter Eight, typically, keeps on getting bigger. But I've signed off on the final edits for Mighty Unclean, and Steve is almost done with sorting the receipts for his Saturday/my Tuesday tax appointment(s), so that--all combined--sort of of makes up for the fact Cal had a full-bore meltdown this morning, probably due to being hustled out the door far faster (and more ineptly) than he wanted to be. I'm seriously thinking of trying to put together a visual schedule for him, now that things are getting so unholy crowded in his life...he needs to cultivate ways to decompress which don't involve screaming and throwing, and we need to give him the opportunity to do so.

Ah, man. Why is life so hard? Not for me; I mean, I have my somethings, sure...but who really gives a shit about that, or should? It's hard for him, and he's only four and a fucking half. And no, putting it in perspective by thinking of ways it could be worse doesn't always help. Besides, the only one it MIGHT help is me--it doesn't do a Goddamn thing for Cal.

Still: It's nice outside.