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.

New publication on The Mighty

It's right here.

Such a punim

Baz Franklin Sandler, age 23.5 months.

Flash Fiction Forum

Counting Crows, "Einstein on the Beach"

If everything is nothing, then are we anything?
Is it better to be better than to be anything?

The morning cafe

You'd think people would be hushed, just waking up. Quite the opposite. Morning people are freaking loud. I mean, what's up, motherfuckers? God can hear you just fine at 1100 decibels.

Our newest baby!

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