April 3, 2016
Seriously, readers, the efforts I go to for you. Behold the work environment I’m forced to put up with, typing away on Boss. Imagine the powers of concentration I must summon to stay awake despite the lulling sounds of the waves below and the soporific Pacific coastal sun. I’m like some sort of beneficent saint. I deserve each cold cerveza I put away.
Not buying it, are you? I don’t blame you. But I have hit my word count most days here in beautiful Ixtapa, Mexico, at the glorious hotel Las Brisas. I tell you, even more than the distractions of a tropical vacation paradise it is the erratically shifting sleep “schedule” of a two-year that is inhibiting productivity. I made an effort to get some work done on the plane. I rocked my girl to sleep in my arms, got her snoring gently, lay her down on her mother’s lap, got the computer out of the bag (stowed securely beneath the seat in front of me), powered it up, opened the document, and wrote — I swear — half of a sentence before she woke up. (Another true story: the writing of the preceding sentence was interrupted for twenty minutes to get her back to napping.) My daughter’s nap time would, if plotted out on a chart over the course of a few months, fit within comfortably defined parameters. But on any given day nap time is a moving target. And being in an unfamiliar location, and one full of such enticements as the beach and the elaborate swimming pool complex, getting her to sleep is a daily challenge.
“Quit your bitching, vacation boy,” you say. Fair enough. It is nice down here. I highly recommend Ixtapa and/or Zihuatanejo. My trip is nearing an end and I’m already beginning the mourning process. The process will, I think, involve mas cerveza.
The Author Still at It.
Screw It. Time to Party. Once the Author Gets His Daughter to Sleep, That Is.