Migration

Tomorrow night, the dirklings fly down from their mother's home. In addition to the usual scramble, we're adjusting things for daytime care for them. In the past, I stayed home and we maintained the house, er, mostly.

This time I have a permanent employer, not just a temp gig that I can walk away from, and tell the agency I need the summer off. I'm working during daylight hours, so I need to have them spend a big chunk of the day in someone else's care.

oboy.


This is also the first year there hasn't been major drama involved in getting them. almost like clockwork, or a menstrual cyacle, their mother would freak out and worry about them coming down. Like I don't know what I'm doing.This year is different. She seemed almost eager for them to come down. I know she's taking some coursework, so that might be it.

Oddly, I'm ambivalent about the whole thing. They and my wife are my whole reason for being. When the blues come upon me, it's the fact that I'm needed that keeps me going, gets me out of bed, and prevents me from giving up. "Blues" is a but of a misnomer - it's more of a dark slate grey. Like Ohio skies in Late winter, no snow, but no sun. Colors aren't as bright, food is less satisfying. Most things are joyless.

I'm very tired. I have been for a few days. I'm not depressed. Not yet, anyway.

I've stopped calling them. They always seem to be watching television, or in the middle of doing something more demanding of their attention. I've told them time and again that they can call me whenever the mood takes them. When I first moved away, I called almost daily. Time went on, the frequency tapered. I've lived in the Bay area for five and a half years now.

I don't know.