When you drop the kids off at school, then sit down to write, then listen to your Pathos-Laden Running Playlist on iTunes while rubbing your bum knee, or maybe your Extended Eulogies Playlist while trying to remember the worst parts of your life, then go to the coffee house and write some more, check your email and look for updates on the Standing Rock movement, maybe come home and masturbate, drop off some mail or take out the trash or do the dishes, then pick up your children from school and bring them home, get them snacks and have them do homework and play until they inevitably get in a fight, which you try to remember is an inevitable part of their working out of boundaries and not any conscious imposition on you and your space, and make dinner while listening to WNYC or your Heavy Rotation Playlist, then set the table and wait for your wife to arrive home, kiss her and look at the floor when you remember you forgot to give your children baths or check your oldest daughter’s homework or take down and fold the clothes from the drying rack above the radiator, then try not to take it personally when your four-year-old calls the dinner you made disgusting or mercifully just says Yuck, and do the dishes after dinner while your wife speeds your children through showers and reads to them, grab a beer from the fridge or a whiskey from the cupboard, and sit on the couch and don’t think about anything at all—just stare into the space you’ve made for yourself and these people, and remember that this is exactly the life that you wanted.

What are the Sneaky Feels?

AuthorJohn Proctor