Somewhere between Paris and London, I reached the halfway point revising my book, Rolling for Coal. I say somewhere because I honestly had no idea where I was. At one point I told my wife that I was almost home, turns out I was still in France with over two hours to go. Somewhere seemed to be exactly where I was. I know, that sentence is hard to swallow but I’m sticking with it. I was utterly somewhere.
So I was somewhere and I reached the halfway point. That had to mean something. I say something because I really had no idea what it meant. I took a snap shot of my page count, and that was something. It couldn’t mean nothing, so it meant something and that much I knew. I’ll stand by that statement, too.
Right, so I was somewhere feeling something and for some reason I was just not into the particulars. I can tell you I knew exactly why, it was for some reason that I didn’t care to know why I was somewhere feeling something. It couldn’t be without a reason, that I felt that way, there had to be some reason. So for some reason I didn’t care.
Bloody hell, I was exhausted. My eyes were about shut, how did I even feel something? Somehow. That’s how.
And that was when I fell asleep, somewhere somehow feeling something for some reason.
My son was born 5 weeks ago, how long will this last?