"Yesterday, a child came out to wonder…" Those are the words I used to describe Fiona's birth ten years ago.

"And then one day you find ten years have got behind you…"

Now, after a long day, I try to gather my thoughts, to write something. Fiona seems to have had a good birthday and I struggle to write something upbeat that reflects it, but I'm too tired.

On top of that, all of the reflections of Steve Jobs' life echo around in my head. "Live each day as if it might be your last…"

I write, seeking to improve my writing. I write, hoping to make the world a better place. I write, because I must.

Then, I stare out the darkened window. I think of all that needs to be done. I yawn. I am tired. Lines of various absurdist plays echo around in my head.

October has always been a tough month for me.

I look at the portions of thoughts I've gathered and think about the fragments ungathered.

I'll head off to bed shortly. Perhaps after some rest, words will flow more gently.