I had plans today, but the kid got sick. Well, she got sick at school and I had to go and pick her up. I mean, she woke up early and wasn’t feeling the best, but she said it was only a headache and she could deal with it. Then, when she got to school, she started feeling worse, and her teacher called me to say that I should come and pick her up.
Which I did. And she didn’t look good when I got her. Real pale, and whimpering a little, too. Just a sad sack. When we got home, she took a nap right away. She never takes naps, so the fact that she took one leads me to believe that she actually wasn’t feeling good.
As for my plans… they’re shot to hell. I got the laundry done, and I will get a blog out today. Yet, I doubt I will make it to my journal, and there was this rewrite of a flash piece that I wanted to complete.
But… We just watched an old David Tennant Doctor Who episode. That was kind’a cool.
But… I’m still not getting my work done.
At some point I have to start asking myself if I’m being a good dad, or am I rationalizing my procrastination? You know, using the kid as an excuse.
I feel like I should be doing more, creating more, and then I also have this feeling come over me that none of this really matters. It is a fool’s errand that I am on; somehow thinking that any of this amounts to something.
If it gives me purpose? If it means something to me? Does that have value?
You know, following my bliss only seems to lead me introspective questions.
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