I’m exhausted. It’s been a long week and it all culminated tonight in hearing some music that made me miss my grandfather more than I have in a bit. It makes me sick to think of how badly I miss him and worries me in a way too. If this is how I am after losing a grandparent, how bad will it be when the day finally comes to say good bye to my parents? Yeah, I know, what a light hearted and lovely topic to be obsessing about at 3 A.M. The story, The Carpenter, that I posted tonight was mostly me riffing with what came to mind as I listened to the Stanley Brothers and thought about him. It’s not great, definitely not a masterpiece by any means. In fact, it’s a rough, sloppy, ham fisted bit of sentimentality that really isn’t worth reading at all but I wrote it because you write when there is something you know, not before or after but when it comes to you, and you accept that the first draft of everything is garbage. And, now that we’ve had that crash course in Hemingway’s philosophy, I’m going to bed.