“Can you imagine a love that is so proud?”

I started writing another skeleton. Some on paper, and some in my head. Mapping out what could be a 80-page story. Something longer than I’m used to. The problem with my writing—that is, my mind—is that I cannot focus too well on a single project. Perhaps it’s adult ADHD, my bipolar personality, or just the fact that I get discouraged and/or bored. Currently, I’m reading two books (three if you count the CREW manual that I’m reading for work). I’m just finding it difficult to focus on a single task. At work, it’s even worse. I start one thing and I’ll walk off to do something else. My memory is slipping, but not to due to old age as I constantly joke about (I’m only 30, after all).

While I’m focusing (trying, actually), my mind slips into the Nietzsche stories, the nonfiction piece I’d like to tackle (playing that close to the chest because it’s just a reincarnation of something I already started), the idea I have to a children’s series, ideas for Pippin, and an über amount of things. There is so much fat I need to cut from my mind, and  so many tasks I need to accomplish before the year’s end (which is dauntingly close to an end!). And maybe trimming a little fat from my body wouldn’t hurt, either. (Unfinished thoughts)

At 830PM, Jeanna called to inform me that Shaun had an accident. He fell in the shower and split his chin. We took him to the night clinic where, thankfully, they saw him and told us he’d need stitches. However, the doctor there didn’t have the proper equipment to hold him down while he stitched him, so he sent us to the ER. There, the doctor told us that stitching was unnecessary because there were alternatives that wouldn’t traumatize him. So after a few bouts of a crying Shaun at all the stats needed, his chin was glued and we were out. I’m exhausted as hell, and the anxiety that comes with a child injuring himself has lifted, leaving three more gray hairs in its wake.

I love that kiddo to pieces, though.