We've all been sick. I think I'm finally starting to recover. I'd better be -- I'm taking Baz to Sac for an overnight to go to the Golden State Railroad Museum. It's one of his favorites (and mine too) and I don't want to have to postpone it.
I can feel things slowing down and getting into that holiday mode. It's not a bad thing.
Two out of three readers have family emergencies. It's raining. My whole family is sick. And Election Night. We're rescheduling.
Your 48-year-old self wants to hug her 20-something counterpart. You, said while sipping an espresso or sucking on a bong, because does it really matter, are not as ugly or as unwanted as you believe you are. Also, he's an asshole.
How would I have told the police to find him? We've recently cut his hair short. He talks a lot about basketball. He loves going to cafes for chocolate-chip cookies, and if you go anywhere near a Trader Joe's he'll beg for a Z Bar. He'll learn your name quickly and hug you on the slightest provocation.
Why the fuck am I thinking this way?
Baz went missing yesterday. We found him after a half hour. It was fucking awful. He was supposed to attend an after-school basketball class, which was cancelled on a whim. They put him on the bus. We assumed we were picking him up, so we weren't home when he arrived. Fortunately, the bus driver is awesome and made sure he didn't get off. Instead they sent him back to school, where we were reunited.
Jesus Christ. My heart.
