I began a poem in my head last night and while their meaning would have kept me awake forever, concentrating on just the words helped me sleep. Eventually.
It's a poem I won't look forward to writing, as it will be difficult, probably more so than anything I've ever written. But I also know that I will write the rest, although I won't be able to even try until after I visit my father in hospital tomorrow, one day before his sixty-fifth birthday. Anyway, here is the start of the poem:
I imagine walking through the doorway
will be like visiting
my stillborn niece
are still alive
I'm sure you get the gist, so now is where I add that I may or may not be posting here much in the next little while, and I know you understand.
It's a strange feeling actually, very mixed. In some ways, he's been really unwell for years, you could even say for 23, after he suffered the kind of heart attack that would have been fatal if not for him being able to call a mate for help. Since then, the Austin has kind of become a second home. But that doesn't make anything easier.
Meanwhile, I suspect I'll be writing, because this will be the only way to escape my thoughts. Last night I wrote until after 1am, when my NaNoWriMo word count hit 45K. I know I'll make it to 50K, and while I thought I'd stop as soon as I did, even though the story would not be finished, I'll probably just keep going. You can go here for live progress on my word count, in case I don't report back soon.
And if I don't keep going, or if I write the last sentence, then I suspect I'll jump into the two articles I otherwise need to write, and then make more up along the way. I will just keep writing.