That 6:15AM run to the gym
didn’t happen this morning. Had every intention of doing it, but got distracted. And this lead me deeper down the pursuit of
my early morning distraction until the time I was supposed to depart for the
gym by had long passed and the point by which I ought to return all sweaty by was upon me.
With that I went upstairs and got everyone else up and resumed the day’s
regular rhythm, vowing to make sure I got there tomorrow.
My daughter messed up
Saturday night. It reminded me rather
precisely of my own sixteen-year-old mess-ups.
We explained the many reasons why her behavior was wrong. Now thirty-six hours later she’s in a
funk. My talking with her doesn’t seem
to be doing any good.
Whatever our problems they
pale next to the story I just read of Meena Gul, the daughter of Shirin
Gul. The photo of the younger Ms. Gul reminded me of
the pudgy, pout my older one used to sport, when she was younger. I took the story upstairs to her room to read
it to her, uninvited. I didn't say anything about why I was reading this story but I think it was obvious enough. Get over yourself.
Shirin Gul had been sentenced
to life in prison in Afghanistan. She
was pregnant at the time of incarceration and gave birth to a daughter who has
grown up her entire life with her mother in prison. The poor girl’s sad face seemed to speak to
the most resounding unfairness imaginable. How could someone be born into
prison?
Lamb tonight, with a
sesame sauce. It’s musky and fatty and
the taste remains in my mouth. Dishes
that never quite made it to the sink needed to be removed. It’s later now. If I don’t head up soon I’ll miss the evening’s
chance to read to the girls. I often
duck in after ten and find the older one, fast asleep. I will go have a look, as it’s now 9:58PM. Someone had asked me to call them at 11:00PM tonight
but I don’t think that’s going to happen.
Monday 12/04/17
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