Uggh.

Nine p.m. local time, the kid's stopped coughing and finally fallen asleep, and to borrow a phrase from another, better blogger, this bitch is tired. I fought off demons of self-doubt and website gremlins all day, as I hacked my way through an online application for yet another ginormous NGO. (Vienna is stinking with them, and goddamn me, I think I'd like to make a difference--help people somehow--so I'm applying to the ones that I can.)

This is the deadliest hour--it's too early to go to bed but I'm too beat to actually do anything (though I seem to be writing....) The apartment is big and quiet and I feel, well, not so much sad as just wasted. AA people have this saying, this acronym: H.A.L.T. It's meant to be a reminder to yourself to never take on anything too big or make any crucial decisions when you're Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired. I think the drunks are onto something here.

The danger at this time of night, when you're Lonely, Tired and maybe a little discouraged too, is that it's easy to start kicking your own ass, just because it's been another long day and you're tore up. I'm thinking, damn, I didn't get THAT much tangible work done today--didn't do any heavy lifting or underwater welding--and I only took care of Adinah for a couple of hours. So I why do I feel so used up and old? Am I a colossal loser?

No, I'm a father.

It's a job. It's work, just like motherhood or stuntcar driving. It knocks the stuffing out of you every day. Sometimes it's like the work of writing: even if you do it all the time, it never gets easy.

I certainly don't know how my mom did it.