The weekend—
    I ghosted the screen,
    swapped code for countryside,
    laptops for laughter,

    notifications for real-life noise.

Ava’s grin, Mom’s easy chatter,
      Tina’s kids running circles,
      grandkids weaving joy,
      every hour a breath of fresh ranch air,
                                    glorious,
                                   unplugged,
                       exactly what I needed—
                        and didn’t even know.

Then came Monday—
        eruption,
  alarms blaring,
  Sunday’s Game 7 finale gone sideways—
              my code front and center,
                           accusations,
                             questions,
      and a mountain of “what happened?”
        needing explanations yesterday.

Tuesday:
        bug-hunting, hot fixes,
        patching broken logic,
        bruised egos,
        my inbox a battle zone,

        commit log running like wildfire.

Wednesday:
          more firefighting,
          slide-deck alibis,
          postmortem dressed as sermon,
          explaining the unexplainable,
          until every nerve felt worn,

          every question mark answered twice.

Finally, Thursday—
         a quiet sigh.
         People convinced,
              code stable,
         questions stopped,
         heart rate dropped,

         and breathing was no longer optional.

Reward to self:
               ATL, locked and loaded.
               July 8-24.
               Calendar marked,
               countdown on—
               two weeks (and a few bonus days)

               to fill with everything that went missing in this hiatus.

Hugs, Braves games,
      soft quiet nights,

      and that perfect flash of your smile under Buckhead lights.

And, somehow,
     between storms and silence,
     baseball handed us another 4-0—
     our teams sneaking wins like it was no big deal,

     quietly celebrating while they thought we weren’t watching.

Dat recap:
          Family refreshed,
            code fires out,
            tickets booked,
  heartbeat back to normal,
                    and me,

  eyes locked on that next flight—
           already halfway to you.