“Some days are diamonds. Some days are stones”

Sunday afternoon. Sittin’ on the stoop at The Wolf’s rental, preparing to move his soon-to-be ex-landlord’s washer from the shed back in the house. Aunt Judy’s bus will be here in a couple hours. No one’s told the OldOld Man that she’s possibly moving back to town to be closer to him. I wonder how that’s going to go.

Hi, Dad…’looks like I’m moving?’ What? Nooooo. Beckett (the dog) just wanted to see his grandfather. By the way, can I borrow your couch for a couple months?

The truth is that the OldOld Man got sick the day after I headed back home from the May trip. We kept it off social media and ‘internets till now. We still won’t publicly say what it was – not that it’s top secret – but to say he should be walking without a cane in a few weeks.

His illness, The Wolf’s moving and Ryan’s wedding account for this elongated stay in Valpo. It’s taken its toll on me. Katie and I ain’t had but a couple days to ourselves in over three weeks because before my two weeks here we spent over a week in Oregon. I still have deadlines that everyone thinks gets accomplished, apparently, by the power of positive thought. I’ve got family complaining I haven’t seen them enough and groomsmen I haven’t seen at all, again. Counting the illness to start the year, the move and the time spent visiting folks, I’m surprised anything’s done. And there’s still 5 days to go.

I’m not sure how others do it.

I finally had to say “no” to things just to get in a daily walk. I’m going to pull an all-nighter after we drive down The Wolf’s vehicles just to get back on a work schedule. I’m thinking a four-pack of 5-hour energy drinks should get me to the OldOld man’s after-dinner visit Monday night.

Update.

We packed up the car drive to Wednesday night. A little space to breathe. ‘Not sure if I’m doing the all-nighter. It might not be in my best interest to go to the Atlas Chiropractor Monday night with that level of soreness.

Do startup entrepreneurs not have families? Do they alienate themselves from their friends? The only number that goes through my head anymore is 168 – the number of hours in the week. I don’t get it. I’m waiting for the TV movies to come out to display the domestic horrors stemming from their sacrifices. Steve Jobs wasn’t a saint. Hell, most of my muses and heroes weren’t saints: Dylan, Kierkegaard, Lennon…

It’s a pattern I’m afraid of repeating.

Homer left this part out of the Odyssey.

The part where family and friends are the last obstacle in getting home: the good intentions of those who miss you and care for you.

More and more I can see there’s a danger
In becoming what I never thought I’d be

Last updated by Finn at August 3, 2020.