Amazing story

Junot Diaz, "The Cheater's Guide to Love."

Here's something I never tell anyone

Ha! Made you look. I tell everyone everything. Right?

COVID negative

Thank God. 

I was feeling lethargic the other day (then again, who doesn't?) and called the dentist to see if I should keep my appointment. They told me to reschedule and I thought fuck it, it's a beautiful day to have a Q-Tip up my nose. 

Negative. Thank God. 

And this one

 

A year ago

This little butthead.

Tree climbing

 

West Coast failure to open schools a 'disaster'

The result of this extraordinary shutdown is that low-income, special-needs, and ESL kids in the three coastal states—which pride themselves on their progressive politics—have been left behind. In refusing to go back to classrooms in these urban hubs, teachers’ unions increasingly risk a public backlash. And for the coastal governors, this is a political nightmare. For, in failing to knock heads together to get the teachers’ unions and school district administrations to come to agreements, and in not securing the funds to properly ventilate classrooms—or move them outdoors, in a region with weather hospitable to months of outdoor learning—and reduce class sizes, the three West Coast governors are, by default, abetting this tragedy.

Damn straight. I could've told you that. 

Morning music

 The man in the mac said you've gotta go back; you know they didn't even give us a chance.

Today's writing

I equivocate as always: email, Instagram, Facebook. Each an echo of the other. So few stories, so many platforms. The stupid sameness of it all, the ringing echo of repetition. Lulling and languorous in a pharmaceutical way, worthy of a thousand wasted hours. By the time I’ve shuffled through selfies and food photos, I’ve nearly forgotten why this laptop is once again warming my thighs. That’s because it’s like that, the dulling and dumbing of oneself, the anesthesia via wifi. No need to leave the house. Just plug in and the IV of technology starts its own drip.

Nicknames

My coaching clients call me all different things. Melfi. Berkeley Muse. And now Coachy-Wan. I love it!

Because I don't want to deal with Facebook fallout

But I have to put this out somewhere -- here. Rich white parents, my ass. This bitch doesn't just need to be fired. She needs a spanking. 

Two weeks old

 

Tokyo

Damn it, I got vending machines on my mind.

Dear God this is an amazing essay

 Anna Heyward, "Bad Dog" - The New Yorker. Read it. 

From an academic assessment of Baz

"Baz is friendly, sociable, free-spirited, easy-going, flexible, happy, has supportive parents, eager to learn, and motivated by music and movement and making connections with teachers and friends."

My accustomed writing position

In a cafe. Nearly always. But that hasn't been available for a year. I hate sitting outside. Fuck Mother Nature. I've been trying to write right now and my family is all around me and it's just. Not. Happening. I'm over this. I want my life back. 

My buddy Jack

 

Anxiety, my old friend

I have so much of it. It's understandable in these days, but I have it all the time. It's so damn hard to relax and the reality is that this shit is going on a year and what am I going to do, gnaw my fingernails down to the quick? 

Don't answer that.

Recent writing

His arm is in my mouth before I can do anything about it. My teeth hook on, teasing at first, and then not.

“Fucking Christ.” His forehead crumples with the effort of speech. “Knock it off.”

His phone, face down on the headboard, glows. Good thing I can’t see it. I just imagine it, pixels alight with deceit. I want to chomp down hard, to break the skin, to taste the wound, the blood on my teeth. This isn’t about Lorena. This isn’t even about Danny. This is about time and temptation, relationships and the reality of feeling so fucking trapped. It’s a statement of sorts, a memo. A warning.

What could he do to win me as he once did? Roll through flaming hoops, swashbuckle across continents? Would the sharpness of his sword even matter?

On transitional kindergarten in a virtual format

Dude. Virtual learning blows. That is not at all a reflection on Bazzy's teachers. They're fantastic. But it would be better for him to be with them in person. It's been a fucking year. A fucking year since he's mostly been home, other than two months back at his preschool, and it's been killer. I'm not sure if it's harder for him or for me, but I'm guessing it's harder for me. Selfishly, that's enough to make me want him to go back. Every time the Berkeley Unified School District -- with its superintendent whose own kids attend private school in San Francisco -- holds another town hall, I want to smash the computer screen. Do something, God damn it. Make it happen.

Bubblegum at 5:32 a.m.

 

Fountain chasing in Sonoma

 

A story that offers hope

In West Virginia, normalcy is regaining its hold in the state's nursing homes. 

A variant of vacation

Baz has a four-day weekend off from school. In normal times this might be like oh shit, seriously? These days it's a gift. No getting up early, running around to make sure he has all his supplies, then sitting there gnawing my inner lip hoping he'll cooperate. Nope. Not 'til Tuesday, and hopefully not for long after that.

Morning music

 

Seen for the first time six years ago

I had to tell Adam to take a picture. "It didn't rock my world," he said later, when I asked. How much has changed.

Two years ago

 

Listening to this dharma talk

It helps to become intimate with desire ... in order to become wise about desire, it helps to become intimate with desire. If you want wisdom, cultivate intimacy, some aspect of intimacy, some way of being intimate that touches in and brings us to the place where wisdom has to operate. 

Gil Fronsdal, "Intimacy and Desire"

The start and stop of it

I can't seem to stick with one project. I jump from one to another, back again, off the cliff. Maybe I'm psyching myself out. It's hard to know. I keep reading things to Adam and he kind of shakes his head, like you can do better. Can I?

Exhausting

Baz has behavioral and developmental issues. We're getting him evaluated both through the school and (likely) privately. 

This shit is byzantine. There is no other way to put it. Well, maybe labyrinthian. If I spelled that right, it'll be a miracle. Evaluations, questionnaires, appointment after appointment. Form after form. Add that to the regular rigor of virtual schooling with a transitional kindergartener and it's a miracle I'm getting anything done.

Except I'm not. This is the most personal writing I've done in days. I usually get up early to do that and I haven't been. I've wanted the sleep, needed it. Every day feels like a fucking sprint. At least today is more chill. Except it's not. Except it never is. Except parenthood is a job that doesn't end, even when they're sleeping. 

I want to try to write more about this. I'd like to do an essay on it, but I'm not yet sure what I'd say to differentiate my story from all the rest. 

Man, life is fucking crazy right now. I joke about milking the most out of the hour that I was alone when Adam took Baz to the pediatrician a few weeks ago. But I'm not joking. When I went down to Santa Cruz recently, I soaked it in. But I knew that it wasn't going to last.

This too shall pass. But when?

Bazzy and Tahoe Bear

 

It's not liking the good things ...

It's finding value in what otherwise might be labeled as shit.

Fight Club

 “When people think you're dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just waiting for their turn to speak”