I took in the Argos’ game last night from the press box. Wrote a story about the CFL’s Pink initiative in support of women’s cancers. In writing that story, I missed a good game.
My mind goes somewhere when I write and reality has to sit in the waiting room in the meantime. I see events unfold in real time, but they don’t really register. Time stops working. It’s a great place to be.
When I got home, it was after midnight. Jazzy was still up, working on a Math assignment. The TV was on and I sat near her with my nose in my laptop. I had slow cooked some ribs earlier in the night and the plates were still out on the counter.
The whole thing was sooooo normal, I barely noticed that without any effort, it all felt like a home.