Still no word from Blogger about the Jersey Exile's posting problem. I'm beginning to think they've forgotten me. I might end up salvaging my archives and redesigning my blog from scratch, when time permits. Right now the wife and I are on baby watch. Two days until her due date. I've cancelled my classes for the week so that I can hang out around the house with Maria, keep her well-fed, and occasionally rub her feet. It's a very strange thing, waiting for our daughter to come into this world. We know that if she doesn't arrive by next Wednesday, our obstetrician will induce labor (Salem Hospital - yes, that's Salem, the "Witch City" - is a pretty progressive place, and the ob/gyn staff there doesn't believe in extending pregnancy past the 41st week, lest the placenta begin to deteriorate and threaten the well-being of the baby), so it really comes down to a matter of nine or ten days now during which little Andriana Sophia could literally come at any time. This is having a strange effect on my emotional state. Whenever I've found myself feeling tired, cranky, or out of sorts, no matter how tired, cranky, or out of sorts that I actually am, I think to myself that for all I know, my wife might just go into labor that very second, and do I really want to be that way (tired, cranky, out of sorts) for the birth of our child? And suddenly I feel better.

After finishing Chapter Three of the novel, I started noodling around with my second short story again, which is just around 1500 words right now but a real hoot to work on when I need a little time out from what's becoming one beast of a book. Taking the stories and the novel together, I think I've written more than a hundred pages since New Year's, a total which simply astounds me. I never thought I'd be back here again, where writing was a joy, something I looked forward to doing each and every day. Maybe the fact that I knew that the baby was coming nudged me into not letting this be something I complained and complained about not doing, but never actually did. Or perhaps ten years of ideas was all my brain could hold without blowing the whistle and telling everyone to get out of the pool. I don't know, but I don't really care. All I care is that when I sit down at keyboard, words come out. May it never be otherwise again.