Head Down, Fingers Flying

Jack, Crane Lake

I've been keeping my head down and my fingers flying. In the morning, before anyone wakes, I cuddle my boy until his breathing slows again, let the dogs out and start in. Connect the dots, build the bridges, find the story. Break for breakfast: toast, granola, protein bar, or maybe nothing at all. Feed Jack first, do dishes after and then settle in again, head down, fingers flying.

All day long I write the words and soothe the worries of brave souls who have just admitted they have a book in them. I miss my girl. I miss my little guy, the two of us meandering through Nyack, finding shortcuts to parks and chocolate stores, looking for our friends.

If my girl is running late at the pool with Jack, I walk the dogs, running the to-do list through my mind, always telling myself I'll feel human again soon. Soon. Break for dinner. I ask, "What was your favorite part of the day?" Try not to look tired. Do the dishes. Give Jack a bath. Pajamas. Teeth. One last show (please, mama!). Four books. Cuddle. Rub back. Kiss goodnight.

Then, a break. Something mindless. More work. Late meetings, late night. Fall asleep watching Darlene make out with David on "Roseanne." Stumble up to bed and try not to let anxious thoughts of deadlines looming and long since gone keep me up past 2:00 a.m. Sleep six hours, five, four, less. In the morning, start all over again: connect the dots, build the bridges, find the story. Head down, fingers flying.