Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Some emails

Some emails are so painful that you put them in their own special folder because you can't make yourself hit Delete. Then you duck in that folder and it hurts all goddamned over again.

The two percent

I always said two percent of me wanted a baby. I never realized that the other 98 percent was right there along with it.

Today one of the families from New House sent a few pictures of their beautiful new baby. That two percent sprang into action. But this time, I think the rest of me knows it's time to call it a day.

Vegas, 2011

My God, I love this picture. It came up on the On This Day section of Facebook. We look so ... us. Since then we've fielded death, life, an unplanned pregnancy, an emotional affair, you name it.

I love this man.


The whole life's-too-short thing

What a cliche. You know? Everyone says life's too short. But what do people actually do to support that? That's pretty much why I'm a bit of an oversharer (okay, more than a bit) and if it's in my head, it' s usually on the page. Or pixel. Or whatever.

For some reason I'm thinking of things that have been said to me in the past. The first time Adam used the word smitten to describe how he felt about me. The first time he said I love you. (Totally unplanned, and a funny story I'm not going to reveal here because some things should stay private.)

Then The Dude:

You fucked up my assumptions. ... No, I love it. At first I wasn't sure, wondering if it WAS a put-on. Very few people are this real/genuine/open/unique. But apparently you're one of them.

See? It's hard to totally hate him.

And yet. I just logged into Twitter, which I don't often do, and yup: blocked. On Facebook too, no doubt. God, there are so many nasty things that come to mind right now, so much I want to say, so much cover I want to blow.

You were the one who said that war was silly, that you didn't plan to engage in any negativity. Then you did.

I won't say everything I did was spot-on and perfect and righteous. But I don't get you. I. Don't. Get.  You.

Monday, January 22, 2018

Tonight

”Mommy,” Baz said, “you are the next mommy.”

The great sinking energy level

I have no energy these days. Or, more accurately, I have energy but it comes and goes, and when it's gone, forget it.

Figuring it out means doing the math. And I'm no good with numbers.

Lunch

ME: You're making that for me, right?
ADAM: No. I'm just going to get you a cup of kibble.