Gratitude

I am so fortunate to be given the opportunity to be a mother. Specifically, Baz's mother. I was texting with a friend last night and he was making me both laugh and somewhat tear up with what he was saying about my kid.

Then again, the kid is pretty damn amazing.

Geetar

From Facebook: Your photos always look like they could be from our childhood. A day in the life, a moment in time, not some curated, over filtered nonsense. 

The Thing

We keep trying to define it.

Deal with it.

Eliminate it.

We sit in bars and debate The Thing.

It doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

Meanwhile

A friend I knew through dog rescue, a woman I'd never personally met but admired nonetheless, lost her battle with depression the other night. She overdosed while I flitted around a reading, talking shit with Michael and Marcus, acting the know-it-all as always.

I'd reached out and she responded with a simple thanks and I never wrote back. Living with that sucks.

Just wrote this

Sometimes you have to stop yourself from writing the words. They’ll make it too real, too quickly, too painfully. If you have to walk away, take your teeth to your lip, your fingernails to your palms, that is what you have to do.

TWO!

My baby is going to be two tomorrow! The time feels rich, full, and wonderful. Yesterday we walked the streets of Isla Vista and I showed him where I went to school. He sucked on a smoothie from Blenders and took it all in.

I love you so much, Baz.

Southward bound

We're in Southern California for the weekend, a trip that necessitated cancelling two storytelling events that I was really anticipating.

I was not happy.

As we drove down, I felt as though the pieces that were me were not fitting together. Part of that is dreading being down here (although right now we're in Pismo Beach and I could stay here for a good long while ... but we're headed to the San Fernando Valley, which is a completely different story). We're heading into an awful heat wave and dragging Baz and the dogs into it with us.

I got sick. SICK. Sick like I was asking Adam to pull over every fifteen minutes so I could just stand on my feet and lean against the car, breathing in the fresh air.

The last time I was on the Central Coast, I got pregnant. Uh, I think this may be different.