We have each other this morning

I'm accepting slimy blueberries from her snotty, sticky fingers. They taste extra sweet.

In the Dark

I was miserable when I arrived. Beyond tired. Nerves frayed. Cracking up. Not sure I could face this city or anyone in it. But there is something so reassuring about the grime and anonymity. Being here conforms the fact that everything I said I did I actually lived. Which seems more like fiction lately. But I have walked here. Being back is more comforting than I would have thought.

Malcolm, once again, pointed out that I am always unhappy after the first year of being somewhere new. And I was trying so hard to be normal, happy, etc. I still can't figure out why I can't figure anything out. Shouldn't I have a business idea or a novel bursting forth? What is the matter with me?

I'm in the dark in our weird hotel room. Violet is sleeping, white noise blasting. This is the most I've been alone and quiet in so long. I tried to bank solitude. I knew it wouldn't be easy. Except in some ways it is. Being with her, being her mom, is the most unforced thing I've ever done. Watching her delight in the while world - and the whole world delights back - is the very best feeling.

I do want to excel for her, to be confident, high functioning, and most of all, what I wished most of all for her, happy. I keep thinking that maybe I'm closer. But I suffer from terrible setbacks and crises of faith. I vow to make a more concerted effort to make myself into the person I should be. I want to live a lovely life. It won't begin when I'm ready. Here we are. This is it. Fight!

A Very Nice Day Indeed

Yesterday I slept late. And when I awoke I jumped out of be and ran downstairs to find Violet and Malcolm curled up together on the couch. The living room was in shambles.Toys strewn everywhere. A lovely mess. We decided to go to Portland. I walked the dog in the strangely warm sunshine. Sorry, Earth. We drove to the mall and shopped, blithely. And ate crappy Chinese food. We poked in and out of stores and bought things we only sort of needed. No Christmas presents for anyone but us. Even though I really like getting gifts for others. Then, Target in all its splendor. In all, a much-needed self-indulgent and vacuous Wednesday. It was a very nice day indeed.

Sunday

We're all asleep in our own respective room, at noon in early gray December. Planning, dreaming, snoring, scheming. So quiet I can hear the refrigerator hum, the neighbor's chain saw, fingers strum over the sticking keyboard. My head is thick with clouded, quickening thoughts, my throat is closing, lips dry. Are we chasing change or dying?

Thankful

Sweeping my kitchen on Wednesday, I realized how much I have and how lucky I am to have this life.

Life Today, Without Comment

In the background, through the speakers, Jack White at his rhythmic, Zeppelin-y loudest, in front of me, on the TV, some terrible daytime doctor program for lobotomized ladies and shut-ins. I'm neither really watching or listening. The baby has strewn toys to every corner of the living room. There are pears in her hair and I think the dog has fleas. Correction, the dog definitely has fleas. The dog is outside, alone, which she hates. I wish I didn't wish we never had her. Violet scooted around the floor, downstairs, then upstairs while I made the beds, from 8-11, collecting dust bunnies on her clothes and eating some old food she found behind her highchair. Malcolm has a sore throat. I have to work again at the restaurant tonight. I have to be on top of things. I have to take the garbage to the dump and scrub the egg yolk from the counter. There are twelve yellow leaves like vellum clinging to the tree outside my window.

This year

I turned thirty-three last week. It seems significant. I had been waiting for thirty-three. I thought something great would happen that year. And it did. Violet happened and happiness happened. The pursuit of happiness. Deserving it and going after it. Moving forward. Accepting that everything happened. And being here with it. And being imperfect but not broken or in need of salvation. Shirking that self-pity and destruction from within. Being done with self-loathing and sabotage. Because it is boring and so last decade. Feeling traction with the mass of my own existence. Being held on to and holding on but also a cipher. Being steady but also warmed with the wind that blows through us all. This isn't turning out, it's not what I meant to say. I haven't had time to write them down. All these thoughts. Nothing but looking and thinking this week. This year, that is the foundation for action. I'm finally here, where I am supposed to be. And it has never been more clear that I am responsible for my fate and that it will be over in a flash, and that there's no use lamenting the passing or trying to slip out of consciousness. Make yourself a match for time with acts of greatness. Practice to get bigger and faster. Move with grace that meets the gods. Learn compassion and be in love.