Does It Ever End?

Friday Flow From A Writer’s Mind

4:02 AM. The glowing digits of my Echo Dot pierced the dark, a beacon in the night. Tick, tick, tick — the relentless march of time echoed in the room, a rhythm to my restless thoughts.

My body felt like a slab of concrete, heavy and immovable. Yet, as my eyelids fluttered shut for a fleeting moment, a familiar internal voice barked, “Fuck this, it’s time to get up.”

Years in the Marines had ingrained in me this early-rising curse. It’s a habit that cuts both ways, sharpening with each passing year. And now I wonder if this relentless routine is a reflection of the inner turmoil I’ve been battling for the past five years.

Life often leaves me reflecting— is this all there is? Is this path ever going to lead somewhere new, or am I doomed to repeat the same day, like a modern-day Sisyphus?

Think of it as Groundhog Day — each morning a carbon copy of the last. It’s a sensation that resonates in my bones, not just as a writer but as a single father. The relentless parenting grind, push to meet deadlines, and the juggling act — it’s a familiar tune, played on repeat.

Somehow, in this predictable loop, I feel change in the air. Subtle but undeniable. It’s the little things — my daughter’s laughter ringing a bit louder, my words flowing more freely onto the…