This is the end.
And I mean it this time. The only way this isn’t the end is if the Birthing Center triage calls us tomorrow and tells us that they’re too crowded to have Heather in to induce labor. In which case we’ll have to wait till Friday, but I really don’t think that’s going to happen. Thus, I repeat, for emphasis and relish . . .
This is the end.
I’ve had a lot of fun with this daylog filibuster (in day 17 now, in case you’re wondering); but I’m certainly not sorry to see it come to a close. I began it in the earnest excitement of thinking my wife would be giving birth within days, if not hours. I never had any intention of posting this many daylogs in a row, ever. I’m just not that interested in offering that wide a window into my life, nor am I driven to write so much so often (I’m not iceowl for god’s sakes); but, as many of you now know, I’m more stubborn than reticent, and so I’ve stuck to the promise of 500 words a day until my baby came. And that will be tomorrow, the Credophage willing.
I’m not saying I’m not going to node or even daylog here any more. I’m certainly going to tell you all, my friends, how things go. It’s just that this day in/day out blather is going to stop. And I know I can’t be the only one here grateful for that.
Perhaps I’ll take these 500 words a day, which JohnnyGoodYear reminds us that Graham Greene admonished us writers to maintain, and plow them into my playwrighting. I’ve got a completely hare-brained idea to write short plays specifically for high school-aged actors. I want to call one of them Wallace Stevens: Superhero! If I end up doing it, I promise to post it here for your downvoting pleasure. (If you think poetry gets blasted, try posting a play here.)
Perhaps I spend a little more time trying to get the plays I’ve already written, done. (Some good news on that end: within the last 24 hours we learned we have a firm commitment from the middle best of the three theatre options we’re courting here to produce Slotin.)
Perhaps I’ll spend a little time with the baby formerly known as Fishy. (Ya think?)
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. . .
I want to thank each and every one of you that has msg’d support for Heather, Declan, Fishy and me. It’s meant a lot, and that’s no bullshit. One of the things I treasure most about this place is how genuinely good we are to each other, especially in times of loss, or in my case, the greatest gain. This place will change. It may disappear completely, but what we have meant to each other in certain precious moments will not disappear, because it cannot.
Cheers to you, my friends. I’ll blather at you again soon. But between now and then, there’s somebody I have to meet.