Thursday, April 30, 2015
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
OMG. I was getting all teary in the shower (with my shower buddy Jack lying right outside as I shaved my legs) thinking about when we adopted them. (Or, rather, when they chose us.) I could’ve lived happily if I only had you … though I always knew I wanted a doggy in my life. Then comes Poppy, and Poppy makes five. I can’t even comprehend how much love and life is going to surround this little boy. OUR LITTLE BOY.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Thursday, April 16, 2015
I just wanted to tell you - probably all you writers know this but I didn't really realize how much guts it takes to put yourself out there by writing about yourself and your life. When I read the stuff you write about yourself and problems you've struggled through in the past or the things you're wrestling with in the present, it makes me think that, not only is it incredibly brave to put that out there for others to read, but it's so cool because it inspires a sort of mousy person like me to do the same. I guess most of us are carrying around a bunch of baggage, but the willingness to confront it and do so with humor and honesty, it makes me realize we're all struggling with some shit, and the world would be a better place if we could just come out and say it. So.. yeah, carry on! And thanks for being so brave to write about yourself so honestly and to let us look into your life
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Friday, April 10, 2015
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Thursday, April 2, 2015
When we first got the dogs, we spent days just looking at them, barely even acknowledging each other. It was a wedge – an adorable wedge, but a wedge just the same. What a relief when we could trust them enough to actually meet each other’s eyes, to forget about their existence even for a second.
“Oh, God,” I say.
He leans forward, elbows on knees. “We’re going to do this,” he says. “Whatever we do, we’ll do it together.”
“But here’s the question: what are we doing?”
“Hell if I know,” he says, and orders another beer.
“It’s really easy to say that.”
“Actually,” he says, “it’s one of the hardest things you can do.”
The statement surprises me. Adam’s far more comfortable with ambiguity than I am. He’ll shake his head when I stress and struggle. Too much work, he says, too much work to worry.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that logic and reality are standing on their heads at this moment. Any second now I expect the plague, the frogs to start falling from this sky. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Yeah,” I say. “I always like knowing.”
I do, too. I once had a guy break up with me because I always seemed to know who I was, what I wanted, how to get there, and he found himself lost at every turn. At least that’s how he explained it to me. The holes in his story became a little more evident when I spotted him with another girl the next night, but no matter. I knew what he said was true. Black and white has always been my kind of atmosphere. Heroes and villains. Right and wrong. Creamy and chunky.
It’s a little simplistic to exist in such a binary way, but it’s worked for me up until this point. Now it’s come to a bit of a whimpering halt.
What happens when you no longer know? What can give you answers when you fail to offer them to yourself? Consult the trees for an answer, look down at the ground. Nature shrugs: your call.