Today's writing

It’s not pretty scenery, that’s for sure. Driving through Richmond rarely is, from the freeway at least. From here you can see the green of the hills and the muck of the railroad tracks, and neither feels particularly appealing. I’m angry and I can’t figure out why. Part of me wants to throw my wedding ring at Rob and hop out of the car, but it’s not exactly a viable plan. Instead I just curl my toes inside my sandals and silently wish hateful shit on him for no apparent reason. It could be the headache. It’s aching worse now, the pain ebbing and flowing. I’m reminded of when I was pregnant, when Jax would kick me so hard that I would have to stop and catch my breath. I try to breathe, to open the constricted blood vessels. Then Rob puts his hand on my leg and it’s everything I can do not to smack the crap out of him.

 

Of course I know where all this is coming from. I can’t pretend otherwise. It presses at the back of my throat like bile, roils my stomach like something I wish I hadn’t eaten a half hour earlier.

 

Fact is, I don’t know if I’m in love with him anymore. In a way that’s what I’m going up to St. Orres to find out; that’s the knowledge I’m pursuing, the information I’m out to get. Why I think that Gualala has the answer is beside me; I only know that I do.

 

Mixed feelings

I watch Baz sleeping and think about everything that's meant to harness him. The meds, the interventions, the Meetings Meetings Meetings. Why can't we just let him be him?

Because of people like me, people who insist on the following of rules and social norms. That's who.

Memory Lane

Went up to hang out with Daily Republic folk today. It was fun! I saw Ian, Amy, her husband, and Bill Buchanan. TOTAL memories, but we were also able to connect in the present, which is great. Much fun. 

New Parents Magazine article

"How to Talk About the Death of a Pet to Your Kid." 

This is seven

 

Ezra's bar mitzvah, 2017

 

Today's writing

Then we gather Sid’s stuff: food, bowls, toys. I throw in a cow hoof for good measure. For some reason, this is depressing. Is this how it’s going to be when he –

 

He –

 

I can’t think about him dying. I can’t fathom gathering up his stuff, sweeping his fur from the floor. How do you dispose of a life?

 

Sid wanders over, sits on my foot, gives me the look.

 

Don’t consign me to the grave quite yet. Have faith in me. I want to stay with you at least a bit longer. I know I don’t have all the time I would like, but let’s face it: none of us do.

 

Volunteering

This morning I applied to volunteer at Berkeley Animal Care Services. It's been way too long. I have to do something. I have to make a difference. I'm going to make a difference. 

Marisa made this for my book!

 Check it out! 

Morning music

Winding your way down on Baker Street
Light in your head and dead on your feet
Well another crazy day
Dream the night away
And forget about everything

Santa Barbara, 2017