I hugged my son and smiled at my ex-wife. I get extra time with my son on Tuesdays and Thursdays this summer after his morning day camp, as my ex works in her local supermarket in the floral department a few days a week. She had met our son and I at a pizza place after her shift was over, as he had requested pizza and it was way too hot to cook. I had to take a redeye to Atlanta that night, which meant I had to leave straight away to go to the airport, so our switchover was a bit hasty, also switching over the leftovers from the pizza feast.
Limbo calling
I’ve been a bit on edge lately, which among my friends hasn’t been particularly surprising. The relationship I was in recently ended, I’ve been chronically underemployed, and the long days of Seattle summer mean there’s simply more time to fill. In other words, I’m bored.
I doubt anyone reading this is surprised by this revelation. After all, I’m just starting a post of my writings online, which typically is driven by a combination of boredom and narcissism that enables someone to write enough to maintain a steady output of writing, and to feel confident enough in their own importance to post it on the Internet. Surely, Peter, the reader is saying, it’s obvious that you’re bored. Please, dear God, don’t bore us.