DAY 3: The plumbers are to be here sometime today. It’s 11:30am, nothing yet. The water lines are supposed to be put into the wall (rather than coming up from the floor, as they were before) and the tub installed. Here’s hoping they can do that today and remain on schedule.
Mom comes into town for a few days tonight. The kids will be so excited to see her, as will Sonya and I. We’ll be able to shower and wash away the several day grime of dust I’m sure is floating about our air.
Elliott and I are taking it easy. I have invoices and proposals and new jobs to get started or finish. I am the consummate father, plopping his child in front of the TV as he works — what a cliché I’ve become. The internal struggle of running a business and a family, and measuring which is worse or better. No choice is better, and no choice makes me pleased. In the enduring stretch of life it’ll come to nothing more than a hiccup in a deep breath, I just want the air to be fresh.
I can’t help but find “writing” frivolous. Vacuous. For what gain, to whom? If nothing else I have the chance to traverse words within my internal and external world, I suppose. Not much comfort in that. This often is not the writing I wish I were doing, but the fiction in my head (that which I wish to get out) remains trapped, as I fear I cannot or have not the talent to do so; the respect or craft or care to show the world I wish to create. So, for now, anything will do.