The Way Back
Sunday morning. You know what you have to do. You have to write. You have to come into the bedroom, where there is not good light. You have to flip open the laptop, find the charger, open a new blank page. Later you can check email, The New York Times, the polls, your To Do list, your texts, your project management spreadsheet. No, but what if there is an urgent text? It can wait. It has to. Later you can put music on, music that will help you focus, but maybe it will help you focus now? But it will also remind you of the song you want to play for the kids, the Biden/Black-Eyed Peas mashup of "Where is the love?" So for now there will be no music. There will be the rain on this dark morning, whatever you can hear over the sound of the trucks backing up and the construction that has been going on for seven years outside your window. Entire skyscrapers and all of Hudson Yards built in that time, art buildings, an empty mall, luxury gyms and rooftop skydriving. But still, on 29t
