Ah the joys of anonymity.

The wave of "Let's get shit done" energy has since crested and fallen. The past couple of days, I've been in a more, "Fuck it" mood. I have no explanation for this, but feelings of sloth/entitlement are hard to call.

Is it normal for every fucking person you know to suddenly remember every fucking miscarriage story they ever fucking heard as your wife's due date looms ever closer? Just me?

Like I don't have enough to worry about. I always have enough to worry about.

Actually, that's not true. There have been brief periods in my life where most of my major hassles were resolved at approximately the same time. Sick as it may sound, I actually walked around wondering what it was that I was missing. I felt like the axe was about to drop, like I wasn't going to see it coming. Sick.

I have shaped a world encrusted with anxiety. My life is a fruitful horticultural experiment to see if life can survive bathed in a matrix of tension and self-loathing. Good stuff.

But there's always a light, isn't there?

My light is currently making fitful kicks and shoves inside my wife's abdomen. She's ever so small, and we've never been properly introduced, but I love her so. Being a father is slowly changing everything. It's like some Great Shuffling, where all the useless crap gets seperated from the parts of life that matter.

She matters. My wife matters.

It's a short list.