Man, I don’t know what’s worse: the level of disorganization, or the level of heartbreak that comes with going through all the objects and deciding what stays and what goes.
My office/aviary needed some TLC, so I cleared out so I can at least throw some darts. My night stand yielded all kinds of flotsam, birthday cards, old pictures, books, and the predictable kick to the gut that life isn’t executing for my guys the way I’d hoped.
I keep reminding myself we’re not done yet; there’s plenty of story left to write. I’m struggling with how much input I need to be giving at the moment. My younger guy needs less; elder requires more, but won’t accept direction.
So I gotta watch him flail.
The fuck.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
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