Triple Sweep

Dear J-

What does impossible feel like? I have an outline in my head but nothing else beyond a vague notion of here, we have to do this instead/in lieu of/in addition to. We were able to get the kids up and moving and playing around yesterday, and I dunno, maybe it felt a little like what my folks did when we were little (visit friends who have kids your age and hey, you kids go and play, willya) but it couldn’t be, couldn’t possibly be that we’re all growing up and getting older, could it? I think back even just a little to my dad, who was a professor by this age, and what have I done with my life instead? In lieu of? Or is that even a good yardstick to use, a source of comparison? Even as I idly eye real estate in different towns — itchy feet are itchy — I know the great purges are yet to come.

I’m plenty flat-out exhausted today, to be honest; it was a long weekend and next weekend is already booked and there’s still the week to get through as well. Once you get over your own sense of badness, though, you might as well pretend that what you do is add value to work and life in general. As we push through the darkening morning (autumnal equinox! today!) we recite the litany of worth: let’s keep going onwards because what I have to contribute is worth getting excited over. Steady or not, here I come. There’s a lot to be done, after all, and me convincing myself that it’s not worth doing before even trying isn’t going to help, not this dark in the morning.

You know the old saw about how when you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail? I had a portrait lens on yesterday so there’s a lot of strange-kid portraits showing up today; this is maybe not unexpected but for those of you who thought it was strange to see strangers’ kids, there you go. This is thunderdome, with all its attendant glory; we live in a state of constant surveillance but so be it; we’ll make the most of it and move on with our lives. I will say this, though; there’s nothing stranger than having a stranger take pictures of your kids, and so I’m okay (for now) with the implied consent I give to have my own kids’ pictures taken because it’s not possible to separate out the intent from the action, not all the time.



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