Skip to content

Posts from the ‘KILTED DAVE’ Category

Drowning Mind

Here, we go. It’s Tuesday, and the Wee Horde are on Thanksgiving Break as of this afternoon. I’m not enormously thrilled by this development. I just barely survived the last five day weekend, and I’ve developed some delightful upper respiratory crud recently. While I’m hitting it with a full court press (minus prescription antibiotics, which require a middleman) and actually feeling fairly decent, that still grinds on the ability to do, well, anything. Aaaaaand, we’re charging headlong into the holiday season. Plots are in motion, games are afoot (and sometime a-hand), and I’m not ready. I’m never ready. Can one be ready?
Read more

Wise Counsel

I’m cautiously optimistic. I’m digging into light boxes for SAD, which is a thing this far north, let alone on the coast. (Lots of clouds, lots of the time.) I’ve spent my evenings after the children are abed applying pigment to tiny orcs. I’m minded of the Indian in the Cupboard, and thankful Omri never put Dread Cthulhu in the cupboard (nobody puts Cthulhu in the cupboard, ftagn). This, or rather the non-writing, somewhat-creative, alpha state-ish time it affords me, seems to be helping to even out the emotional rollercoaster of single-hand parenting of two small and precocious near-human creatures.
Read more

Reverie

Is not the title of what I’m doing here. That’s the chapter title, as I hope will become clear. I’m … well, we have two more weeks until Mommy gets home, so unless I manage to get my feet under me, it’ll be about three to four weeks until I have anything like a groove back. So to speak. In an effort to bring about just such a shift in my personal condition, I’m pursuing two steps. The first, is more (and more consistent) physical exercise. The other is pursuit of more frequent flow state.
Read more

Pulled In

I’m writing to you from the distant past of yesterday afternoon, when Mrs. Dave was still with us (instead of out gallivanting about the country at Uncle Sam’s request). Before I was required to escort Wee-er Dave to the dreaded Outside, where at least one pumpkin shall be acquired. We may gather more, to properly celebrate the season in a couple of weeks. I can’t see that far into the future, myself. Still waiting for the guy to come fix the black bars on the crystal ball. “Between birth and death” is not a terribly specific timeframe.
Read more

Deeper Trouble

The weather has turned. I’m wearing flannel, and a coat to keep the rain off. The furnace has been turned on. I’m not … entirely … upset about this. I prefer being dry, myself, but I also enjoy the shift in seasons. Mrs. Dave is home this week, though not next, and not for a few after that. Also, there are costumes to plan and make, and school fund-raisers to raise. Basically, I’m heckin’ busy, fren, and I’m not sure when (or really if) that’s going to change.
Read more

Cracks Appear

Mrs. Dave is off traveling again, as of this morning. I’m not entirely thrilled with this, and Wee Dave is distinctly unenthused. Wee-er Dave could not be reached for comment, having disappeared into her classroom to find her best-friend-of-the-week. I expect that bird to come home to roost between retrieval and the Witching Hour. Still, they’re both in school for a good chunk of the day, and I’m well stocked up on mac’n’cheese and whiskey. We’ll split those supplies, though. I don’t need much pasta, after all, and they just can’t hold their liquor.
Read more

Hard Labor

What a week. Not my favorite. Mind your self-care, friends. Make doubly sure you are getting the fiddly bits slotted into the right places so you keel is even. It makes everything less onerous. Perhaps not easy, per se, but much easier than otherwise. Let us say the Wee Horde is adjusting to change, perhaps better than I am.
Read more