This is my little piece of reality from the world. This is what convinces me the writing must go on in spite of me. There were weeks — months? — of silence, but they break at this sight.
Who told me it was all about me? Who told me I must have one last snippet of freedom and laziness before children break my individuality? “Sleep all you can now.” That’s what she said.
No, live all I can! Write all I can! Worship, sing, fly all I can! Not because I’ll miss my chance come October (though I may), but because I’ll miss my chance — come tomorrow — if I don’t.
This is freedom.
