St. Petersburg, day two

St. Petersburg, day one

Spotted

A little kid, just barely walking, toddling around all bottom-heavy. A mother watching, coffee in hand, caressing her baby's back.

I will never be the same.

Time, recovered

In January, Baz will begin attending day care two times a week. Two days to myself! Holy shit. I'm going to get to write, work out, and generally enjoy times when I can leave the house without sippy cup at hand.

Will I miss my boy? Of course. But Wednesdays and Fridays are mine from 8:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. No one better fuck with that.

The lost

Wesley Gibson died last weekend. Amongst a group of amazing people at St. Mary's MFA program, Wesley was the one who had the most direct effect on me and my career.

He was the first person who knew about BEARDED LADY. That includes Adam.

When I told him my idea, I could barely look at him. He said only one thing:

"Sweetheart, go for it."

He died alone. No one should fucking die alone. Wesley, damn it, why?

Just written to Marcus

So yeah, I think I am feeling more strongly than normal, and there’s only so much I can lay on politics. I think I just don’t suffer fools the way I once did. Be Coolio or be gone.

Election of a demagogue

We sat on the floor at Kristen and Sean's last night and it was so very different from their election party four years ago when we cheered the re-election of a decent, kind, articulate and wholly classy man as our leader. My heart particularly went out to Marcus, who put boots on the ground in his hometown to stump for Hillary last weekend, walking the sidewalks, knocking on doors.

I learned way more about my country than I ever wanted to know last night. Do we stay or do we go? Adam was joking about going home and sewing our yellow fabric Jewish stars. I told him to shut the fuck up, but if I suspected that anything at all like that was coming down the pike, I'd be out before you could say boo.

I try not to hate. It's bad for the skin. But Trump, you're pushing me.