Acme Bar

I was there with friends. I realized I missed Michael. I realized that's okay. 

Reminds me of the Czech Republic

 

23 years

I met Adam at work 23 years ago today. Twenty-three years! We've been together 21 years, married for 17. When you're in a relationship, the numbers do matter. 

Nearly 1500 words today!

An excerpt: 

You fail to picture yourself in the moments of success, of happiness, but let’s try: you’re at the helm of the classroom, conducting a lesson that’s actually working. The kids are getting it; they’re into it, they’re laughing, they’re talking, they’re working together in the groups you reluctantly put them into because you always hated groupwork but they seem to like it. You’re doing it, you’re teaching without ever studying the art, you’re flying on that highwire that you love so much, the sweat running down your back, the what-ifs, the I-cans. You’re rock-hopping for sure but this is the good kind, the kind that leaves you gasping with accomplishment. 

You have these moments, more than just moments really, mornings, afternoons too sometimes. Entire days when you’re lucky, which sometimes you are. Why do we fail to pay attention to these times? How come they don’t rise to the level of our consciousness? Maybe it’s not a we thing; maybe it’s just you. You keep a running fucking database of perceived insults, of embarrassments. You can name them off without even thinking. But the victories? They’re hidden down deep where you couldn’t find them if you wanted to. It’s a fucked-up parfait of sorts, the layering intricate and stupid all at once. You don’t want to dip a spoon in there. You may find yourself happy. 

You wouldn’t want that.

Anniversaries

July 14: Jack's death (2022)

July 15: Meeting Adam (2002)

July 17: Jack and Maizie's birthday (2010)

I remember these dates. I take them seriously. they matter. 

Random statement to myself

He thinks he's such a goddamned Renaissance man. Makes me want to hurl out my eyeballs.

Yesterday's writing

My Americanness is not a cloak I can drape over my shoulders or toss off at will. It exists at the somatic level, in every part of what makes me up. It’s carried in my cells, reflected in my DNA. I may not be comprised of McDonald’s French fries, but in a way I’m not far from it. 

I was born in New York City, raised on America’s West Coast. Mine was among my classmates’ voices as we placed our hands above our hearts each morning: I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. Later those words will cause tears to gather under my lids and fall, unbidden, onto my cheeks. Later the atrocities that this Republic, for which it stands, will bring to fruition will spur me to finger my passport and think seriously about fleeing back overseas.