There's something wrong with me in the mornings. Again, I wrote an entire post. Again, at midday, I hate having written it. It insults my noon-glow.
It will go the way of the Dodo.
Why do I wake up in such a foul mood, and why do I suspect anybody needs to read about it. I don't feel particularly distasteful at sunrise, or before. Though my midday sensibilities are different - softer, kinder, more understanding.
Maybe it's best to write only of the joys of fatherhood here. That should keep me safe. There are many.
As the day skips past, become as handfuls of sand, tossed in reverse, as if caught from the wind by children passing through childhood.
Nothin' is really wrong, feeling like I don't belong.
What else is there?
.
