In the Shaft but Not

While in the coal mines, I often stare at Torin snaps—mostly those in which he was near to Decker’s present age (6 months).

Oddly, this has only been a recent urge to reflect—and which has consequently caused significant personal consternation—for the images lure me, transforming myself into a glaze-eyed, woolgatherer. This is unfitting for my present situation (as is undoubtedly crafting this entry); I ought to be absolutely productive while in the mine. It's doubly problematic because these memory escapades also render me somewhat emotional, nearly tearful.

Pooks was so recently at little Goo-Goos’ present condition—a tranquil toddler rather than a torrent of tantrums. These babies must have bamboo juice for blood; even Jack would be taken back. My feelings thus present a strange dichotomy. On one hand, I yearn to return to those warm days, and on the other, I would not exchange the present for any price. All considered, I exist in a remarkable circumstance. To wit, I possess a brilliant diamond and two unique gold nuggets, one having a darker surface than the other.

In fact, the present has proven to be as profitable as the past and has presented delightful presents, particularly when all I have ever expected to mine was coal.