I got home late and they’ve asked me to write over this weekend, more sections to a paper that I keep feeling increasingly disconnected from. Ha. Ha. I got home late and when I looked up from my doze after dinner I found out it was already 8:30, the night half gone, and I fell asleep again, halfway between tired and exhausted.
You know how they say that movies with more than one writer credit are always suspect? Sometimes I believe that if you’re not dealing with some kind of pure vision, some one person’s ideal, then you’re not getting a story, you’re getting a committee’s view of what happened. And then I get over my own ego and realize that what’s important is not some burning personal vision (which sounds uncomfortable, anyways) but that we all get through this together.
But. I still miss time with these kids, and tonight was pretty poor: get home, bolt down food, snooze on the couch after we pop in a movie. Is that the life they’ll remember?