I like writing. I don't write as often as I should, but there is something relaxing about finding the right rhythm and letting the words flow.
Sometimes it can be difficult to find that happy place.
Sometimes it is impossible.
This is one of the impossible times. I want/need to write a critique of an author's work detailing their use of binary language to create an argument that forms a symbiotic relationship between God and man, and my Little Man wants to play trains and sing "no more monkeys jumping on the bed."
I don't know what "doctor" he called, but I have a feeling that the prescription is to put the homework aside and be a dad tonight.