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There's a haze that hangs over you for hours after a good session of writing. It's a nurturing field that sustains you as you climb up the ladder and reenter the real world, and once again take on the day-to-day mundane.

You know, the everyday. The series of simple complications that life continually throws your way. Like whether your vacuum is sucking up enough dust. Like whether you should splurge and go ahead and buy that of jar pimento-stuffed olives. Like what note your toilet is singing when it makes that loud streaming gurgle right after you flush it, or whether your blacks match, or how much you can afford to chip in for Chinese food tonight.

It’s nice to be enjoying that haze right...about...now.

But I really am concerned about the Chinese food thing. I've got a mojo for crab rangoon something fierce.

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Well, I got my rangoon.

I'm typing this from the old homestead. Another Sunday evening finds me here, Josie asleep in bed with the two bunchkins by her side. I'll get the couch, probably, and okay, it's somewhat the worse for wear, and the kids have peed on it a bunch of times, and the dog has shed so much fur on it that we could make it into a quilt, but somehow I think I'll sleep pretty darn securely tonight.

After a hedonistic evening on Friday night with an Albanian film student (my, I just love the way that rolls off the tongue!), life kicked into Brady Bunch mode starting Saturday. We spent the afternoon with the kids, Ashley had her Saturday afternoon tantrum, ate a family dinner, and then Josie prepared for her date that evening. Well, now that I think of it, not quite B-squared mode after all...

The real story: Another Saturday Night

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(To be continued)