"What are we doing here?" The Man asks - not even sure if this question is for me to answer, or just him thinking out loud - but at the moment, it does feel this way. A long, hard slog. At 7 am I am standing outside in the darkness, picking up shards of red brick and inside my two are working on their breakfasts and Duplo towers, whilst The Man is probably sitting behind the wheel of his truck talking himself into calming down.
The problem is, neither of us knows a place where we would actually be better; regardless of where we go, it'll be a long, hard slog - or so it seems, anyway.
What are we doing here?
I don't know. Everyone needs a rest, and we are hard pressed to get any.