Time and Feet and Crying and Love

I wanted to tell you that when I wrote this and said everything will be fine when the schedule changes,
I was right. The schedule changed, and everything is fine. SO MUCH BETTER THANK YOU BABY JEBSUS.

This is us a few weekends ago. We drove to Dana Point to see Dakota and I finally got to see his new apartment and meet his new (totally sweet) roommate. We hung out and drank healthy smoothies and it was wonderful. Dakota is 22 and Ian is 19 and I still almost on a daily basis find myself suddenly, after just glancing at an old photo or recalling a memory, filling with tears and holding back a good cry because they are grown, so grown, and everything changes, and everyone grows and what that means and looks like you never know, you don't control. And the love is so huge that to fit my human sized body around it can often be painful. 

I am so sentimental that looking at a photo of my foot from a week ago can make me weepy. Seriously, it's pretty bad. I have serious existential issues with time. Meditation is something I do almost daily and I usually think about what is the point of being in the moment when I'm not sure that anymore I believe 'the moment is all we have.' In fact, I'm almost sure I don't believe that. At least, it doesn't feel that way, my brain doesn't perceive time that way. It feels more like we have all the moments that were or will be, floating around on some other dimension as ghosts, and we can feel their existence. What does time mean when someone we love dies, for instance? Is the moment 'all we have'? Then what of that person's life, all the love we have? The moment of now is incredibly important in human life, no denying that. But.

All my friends have big butts.

My Piece On Donald Trump and Lola's Freshman Year

It's amazing how powerful the word pussy is. I think you can read this:

I shaved his dick

and feel less surprised than reading this:

I shaved my pussy.

Why does, at least to my ear, the word pussy sound so much more. Pulpy. Vivid. Exposed. Vulnerable. Intensely private. Although we see more nude women than nude men, the pussy remains for me more private, more mysterious, less available. You can see a woman fully nude, standing in front of you, and still not really know what her vagina looks like. Only when she is vulnerable, legs open, exposed and trusting, can you see the details. Whereas dick, penis- this is unavoidable, in your face, the second a man is naked. Unless I suppose, his back it turned to you.

I like being a woman. I like having a pussy. I hate that Donald Trump ever gets to utter that word: pussy. He doesn't deserve it's tender, ferocious, private power.

I wrote about this at The Establishment. 

gratitudes and pleasures of today

writing Christmas lists; electronically making Christmas lists: Amazon

Mr. Curry pulling me onto the bed with him to snuggle; smelling his armpits.

Lola and friend jumping from behind pillar and screaming BAZINGA at Mr. Curry, Ever and I 

my body, strong despite disease, still able to exercise, have sex, run, dance, pee and poop

getting published at The Development Set  my first long form piece, very proud

starbucks doubleshot

my dog Katie, Katalini, Tortellini, Torta, Space-Bat

talking to Dakota on the phone for an hour

Ever putting makeup on only one eyebrow

Facebook

Rubios salmon tacos, guacamole and chips

my bookshelves full of books

when people say 'oh sweet baby jesus'

the feeling of getting to lay down and sleep when i am exhausted, which is often

the weather today, pointedly, that it was not 98 degrees again

the feeling when i've submitted a story or an article that i worked hard on, which i did today

face peels

facial serums that 'drench' and 'quench' and 'renew'

oils: coconut, avocado, olive

flea combing Katie and washing the fleas off the comb down the drain, every night. sometimes i do Wolfie too, but he doesn't sleep in the bed. they still have a scattering of fleas, even though i bathe them, comb them, and vacuum every day.

Ever, Lola, Ian, Dakota

my husband is my best friend and my person and we continue to be so lucky to be hot as hell between the sheets, such luck, and i am still, even more, in love with him than ever, so in love, butterfly in stomach when i see him unexpectedly in love, and he with i, and luck, luck, and hard work and endurance and courage on both our parts, and love, love, love