10 years ago

 

Things I say ad nauseam

I should shower soon.

I'll shower in five minutes.

I'll jump in the shower in a minute.

Okay, guys, I'll feed you.

Okay, you goddamned mutts, give me a minute.

Baz, chill.

Baz, chill.

Babe, I love you. I'm sorry.

When you wake up

You check AirNow. You wonder if the sun will fucking rise. You read the latest Trump atrocity. You smoke a cigarette cause why the fuck not. You think, being a parent is killer right now. You think, living is killer right now. You think, maybe I can make it through the day.

Brunch

"Get in touch," Joseph said. "See what's going on."

"Fuck that. I'm done."

"Dude. You have no idea what's going on with him."

"That's the problem,"  I said. "That's the problem."

Distractions

BAZ: Mommy, I want passenger trains.

ME: Daddy's watching football.

BAZ: Passenger trains.

ME: Writing under these conditions is tantamount to having needles shoved into your eyes. You know that?

BAZ: Passenger. Trains.

Also just written

The answer is Vesuvio. Vesuvio, both problem and solution, fighter and arbiter. The shadows tick when you enter, the stained glass seeming to wink. The tightness below growing more urgent. You cut a look at his arms: tattooed, not as well cut as your husband’s. You look away. You wear the same dress as the night you went into labor: a black turtleneck brushing the lower knee.

 

The night you and your husband drive into San Francisco to take advantage of a Mission District made bereft by Burning Man. “No more hipsters,” he says, shifting, “for now.” Two bars. For you, two Diet Cokes. You, already in pain but not willing to accede to it. The plan is to go to Santa Cruz in the morning. When your water breaks at 1:30 a.m., your first thought is Jesus Christ I don’t feel like getting admitted today. Four contractions before you even get through the sliding glass doors. Two more on the way to the third floor. Twelve hours later, a child.

 

Stand in front of the bored bartender. Squint at the menu. Kerouac chilled here. He is a Kerouac devotee. Red flag right there.

 

Just written

At first you don’t like him. This is in 2002. The terrorist attacks continue to dominate the television when you go to the gym in the middle of the night; the Middle East shudders; a sniper stalks D.C. You get off a plane wondering what the fuck you’re going to do with yourself, how you’re going to make it in this world.