No Place Like Home
No sleep yet again. W’s got growing pains and I’ve got the equivalent, an aching that sometimes is profound. The humidity is rising again and with it comes less clarity. S asked me to tap my Dorothy shoes this morning, ruby slippers, and I said, “there’s no place like home” and it fit comfortably with the surroundings, but then Lance attacked Arlene and a bee bit M on the eye and before you know it, the denouement of playdate was thoroughly underway.
L had a restless night thinking about K and whether he is up to the challenge. I had a restless night thinking about fragments of conversations that have no context, beginnings that can’t find endings, middles that are on continuous loop – the Muse says it is all up to me – I feel like beating my head on a brick wall.