Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written. Shit has been crazy lately with the kids and work and McCreary. Feels like I’ve been up to my neck in it for weeks, but some space finally opened up today and I thought I’d take advantage of the time and reach out.

I’m drafting you this letter from a grocery store about a mile up the road from my pad. It’s been a great place to work. They have a comfortable seating area with tables and booths, and I’m not bothered by the typical distractions I run into at the more popular cafes around town: attractive women, people I know, excitable conversations between acquaintances, etc., and since finding the spot, I’ve been hellaciously prolific, though I’ve got to admit the past few days have gotten me down.

I’m not sure what it is, but some part of me seems to be telling some other part of me that I need a break from it all. I’ve even had the television on the past two evenings, which, as you know, is saying something. Before writing this, I was sitting here totally defunct and staring off into space and must have been putting off some kind of vibe because this small girl walked up, two, maybe three years old, and stood there staring at me like she could tell something was up.

I actually appreciate that about kids--their unihibited staring--and while it might sound weird, and I have no idea how I got into the habit of this, when young children approach me in that observing way, I don’t smile or try to entertain them, but rather relax my body and stare back into them from the feltsense, like you might a deer you don’t want to startle in the woods. Maybe it’s because I believe children are more connected to their animal nature, that they can see you, in a way, whereas others tend to see themselves. And as we stared at one another, that’s what I saw: myself. Another one of us who wakes in the night crying.

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