I’m late for work. I’m kissing Musette on the forehead. I’m telling my coworkers the story. My boss is circling the desk. He has diabetes. I need to be more sensitive and not look so relieved. I imagine that’s what he’d say if his thoughts could speak and they were my thoughts, but he’s not a receptacle for my self-loathing. There’s nobody keeping me at the center of the universe but me. It helps having an audience. Don’t think otherwise. We’ve got a good thing going here. The page is the mold that fits the contents of my head to your head. You know how it goes. But if you met me, do you think that you’d be able to hold up your side of the bargain? It’s more than I could reasonably ask of you.
Like I said, you’d have to really keep a sharp eye out and make a display of your awareness as a means of merging my inner strength with the weakness that I have to have babysat by my wife every day after work and especially on my days off. It’s one of the main reasons I shouldn’t go to work. Every instant I’m pulling down shades, throwing out flares, spinning barrel rolls through the clouds, trying to juke my way through the day, into the night, to portray the image that I’m soaring through space.
The weight of light and responsibility falling away. I’ve trained the dog to be quiet and still. Musette is asleep with earplugs and a sleep mask. It’s all going away once this baby is born. You can really feel her moving now. She’s ramping up beyond the realm of potential. She’s got limbs and hiccups. She rolls around and pushes back against my prodding. Right now, it’s like she’s still a concept that my wife is trying to make manifest in our life, but soon that concept will be reality, one that you can see, touch, and that you’re forced to take care of.