I had a pretty shitty day.

My baby woke up with a fever. My wife who already endures the little sudden-barnacle every weekend was all the more needed because she was under the weather. And what are you supposed to do? The kid is sick.

We were supposed to actually go up to visit her family — car rental was reserved as was overnight hotel. (Which I’m certain we ate a charge on, I didn’t ask cause I frankly don’t want to know. See: first line above.)

In any case, wife who was already tired had to deal with baby on her all day and we were just not very good to each other today. (We’ve already apologized to each other. We knew.)

Aside from the battles on the home front, I had trouble with writing the last couple days — not being able to complete something I was working on. It just wasn’t right and it still wasn’t coming several drafts and returns later.

Atop all that, a submission I had sent out got rejected in one of those we-are-going-to-ask-you-questions-to-legitimize-our-rejection-and-just-make-you-feel-worse-than-if-we-just-said-no ways. (It was, in retrospect, just not a good fit and that’s fine.)

So! I sat here alone after baby and wife went to bed. I reached out to some fellow writers for a little pick-me-up. (Always reach out! It’s not worth sulking alone.) I unwound with some mindless gaming, some mind-affirming word games, surfed my social media while listening to Ernest Cline’s official Ready Player One playlist on Spotify and then read a couple Sarah Ruhl’s 100 Essays I Don't Have Time to Write.

Needed a little something more. (Dinner of pancake and black raspberry ice cream aside.)

I took a moment away from the ‘80s songs to find this song I’m in love with: “Bowspirit” by the band Balmorhea (I know it from the highly underrated television show Rectify). It’s real instrumental and soul-wrenching shit. Anyhow, I couldn’t click directly on it because I don’t have the premium membership, so I was fine with just listening to the album on shuffle.

I decided to take the throw blanket, which was partially snotted-on by my mucous-laden daughter earlier this afternoon, opened it up and placed it in the middle of the two ottoman on the rug in the living room.

I kept the headphones on and put the tablet down (the one I’m typing sans glasses on right now). I put my glasses on the rug next to me off the blanket.

I got down in an almost praying position and did what I can only refer to as:

• Not stretching
• Not yoga
• Not meditation

…but a strange “let my body go where it go wants to go” — not necessarily to the music playing.

Breathing, listening, not thinking …just clearing my mind.

Moving, breathing
laying, listening
to the music to my body.

Then I wrote this. ↑

(Or what is bound to be the first draft. Remember? My glasses are still on the rug. A ha, callback!)

Oh and I checked the song that had played while I was [see above]-ing:

“On the Weight of Night.”

Perfect, right?!

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Writer-Artist ✍ Contact: ernio.com →in New Yorker: http://bit.ly/NYernio Find @ernio_art →on Instagram: http://bit.ly/eh-art License →via CartoonCollections.com

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