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The steel job is going fine. I hardly consider myself a writer anymore, but that part of me is here with me always, my shadow, inside of me, fuming a smoky presence. It’s a dance, just a natural state that I’m after. Sometimes writing simply gets in the way of that. I have to push myself into late hours of the night, pushing my friends and family away from me. I could be devoting all of my attention to the television show that I have chosen to put on the screen which my wife is neglecting for the videos that she’s got going on her phone. I’m chastising her about this when she chastises me about not giving her enough attention. She’s telling me that…