Father’s Day, early in the morning, nearing four. I’ve been up since 2 or so. The laptop battery power is fading so I must write quickly. Mack is sleeping on the couch next to me, sighing every few minutes. The room is dark but I’m pretty sure Pete is dreaming on his blankets in the corner. The window is open behind me, and the cool night air rustles the curtains to the left of my eyes. Every few minutes I hear the kitchen mouse but he may now be especially quiet now he/she knows I’m here and the dogs are loose.

And how are you? My week has been ok, but I’m tight and tired this morning. I’ll be ok. Yes, yes, bluntly, I’m exasperated with the inability to go a week without…crashing…but…apparently I can’t. I’m functional, don’t worry, I drive to work, hit the gym, hang out with my kids, all that, but holy hell, when it hits, it hits. And I can’t handle groups of people at all. Want to hang out?

Ok, what did I do this week? A couple of meetings at the office. Read from that stories collection Gaiman edited with the guy with the long Italian last name. Visited the West Bend farmers market with S. Oh, when was it, Friday morning, I stood outside very early in the morning and watched a massive, perfect storm roll in from the south. I took off my clothes under the gazebo, kneeled, and prayed. Yes, you read that correctly. No, the Wisconsin populace was not scandalized, no one can see me back there. And after a couple minutes the rain drove me inside because, well, the rain was fucking cold. But life is too short not to take off your clothes and pray sometimes. Seriously.

More later.