I’ve heard there is an important game of sportsball on today. Rowan says #keeppounding. I don’t even know what that means. His middle name is a tribute to my best friend Steven, who, in a complete and reckless disregard for gay stereotypes is a huge Panthers fan.
I used to be a veterinary assistant.
I snuggled puppies, put kitten on my shoulders, and got lots of licks and kisses from sweet dogs.
I’ve spent an enormous amount of mental energy forging routes around fear; taking the long way to avoid those scary woods. It’s an exhausting and isolated path, full of its own obstacles and lacking a GPS signal. My way was studded with compulsion and hidden distress, holding myself responsible for outcomes and creating imaginary control where I had none. I hid it well, which only served to make the road more desolate.
The place was packed. At least two people took their beers onto the floor itself, where they promptly fell, splashing beer all over the place.
When I was 20 and Pete and Maura Kennedy were playing at a 21+ venue, they went out of their way to make sure we got to go to the show. Maura wrote to the venue that she would personally guarantee that we would not drink alcohol, signing her name to it in a show of trust that meant the world to me. Ever since then we have joked that they are my adoptive parents, having adopted us for that one night. She told me that if the venue hadn’t agreed to let us in that she and Pete were going to go play on the sidewalk.
Kindergarten stresses me out. I don’t think it is supposed to do that. But as I pull paper after crumpled paper from Lorelei’s bookbag I can feel myself wanting to shove it all under the couch and run far, far away. 100 days projects. Boxtops. A million pieces of school work. Worksheets. Books for her to read. Newsletters. Fliers for programs and meetings and groups. Snack calendars. Fundraisers. -a-thons. Drives. As my brain is trying to prioritize this, it spirals into fear that I did not remember to do that thing. Some thing. I don’t know what thing. But there’s always a thing.
“God, you got a negative sense of direction, hon.” Ed to Evelyn, Fried Green Tomatoes
My mom’s version was always, “Rhiannon could get lost in a wet paper bag.”