Long, Long, Long
The momentum lives. The momentum dies. The last few months have been challenging and very, very unbook like. I lost a friend who was as kind and compassionate, as talented and as deeply conscientious, as they come. He leaves behind a family who loves him beyond measure and a legacy of changing lives (and government policy) through his documentary films and through the shining example of his daily life. He was a marvel and a wonder of a man. The very next day, with my heart shredded and my head spinning, there were double prom festivities for my boys who looked at once unbelievably grown-up and exactly like the toddlers I held in my arms. Two days later, I flew to Boston to celebrate my father’s 80th birthday. Me, laughing and crying and drinking too much coffee. Me, biting my cheek when the energy was Boston-funny but Portland-hostile. Me, bestowed my father’s gold Cross pen, promising to pass it onto the next writer when the time came. Five days after that, back to PDX for graduation, a backyard party, and a week of east coast family in town to watch my boys cross this threshold. All the things. All the life. All the death. Always compartmentalizing. Always thinking ten steps ahead. Always barreling through to get shit done. Today was our first quiet day. The coast was relatively clear. The routine, nearly restored, but for the neck spasm, which is currently excruiating. I’m so fucking tired. I just want to reset my mind, maybe pick up some rocks, write the last two scenes of my next novel (god, I hate to think of querying again … ughhhh). I wish I could find a day job that didn’t completely suck.
Other than that, everything’s great. Really.
I haven’t the will to proofread this. It is what it is.
