being followed from room to room by three animals is kind of cool. like my little entourage. occasionally marin joins in and then im really ridin' dirty.

i think they are worried about me. i do not blame them. i am listless, unamused. this isn't constant, but often.

time will care for this. and the hour of laying prone on my floor, reading hugh prather and petting cat tails and dog snouts proved to be unexpectedly comforting. quiet and then a passing shower of tears. a glass of ice water, the breeze from the fan. all cushion my disappointment. the only life i have is right now.

the weather has been ruthless yet gorgeous. high desert clouds painted on a cerulean canvas. but the butter has melted into a pool of faded yellow and the water from the jug on the counter is warm as the gulf of mexico.

stupid air conditioners. i have acclimated to the heat, and slept this afternoon pointed crossways in our bed, felt the pools of sweat begin to soak the knees of my shorts and the back of my tshirt and it was somewhat relaxing. i was so grateful to just sleep.

gratefully, i have made a few good choices namely marrying lucas and not shipping marin off to the circus. they are kind and their kisses are soft and they really do just radiate off of my energy. if i am sullen, they bicker nervously and hypercritically, if i brighten up and begin joking...the mood itself transforms and they smile and relax. i should feel so lucky for this, but right now it almost drains me more. to have nowhere for this grief to expend i steal minutes of relief and solace in a hug from the dog. hiding my tears from even him.

i know this will get better. i know all of the recorded cliche of for the best. i know all of this. so at least there's that. all i have is now. that keeps the fear of the next step at bay.

san pelligrino has become my new best friend, edging out champagne by a smidge. i thought about alcohol a lot, turned to it the minute crisis peaked and was quickly reminded of our impossible relationship complete with angry four o clock in the morning phone calls and cutting my finger trying to hack a lime in two and forgetting the ugly things i say. and the splitting headache and subsequent guilt and shame.

add that to the already shitcake reality and shake a couple jimmy's on top. mmmm mmmm.

and then there was sunday. and the dodger's. and kick ass seats and even getting to see a fangirl sprint across the field, dodge a batallion of security guards, get to first base (which was only...fifteen feet away, mind) and then get taken to the ground by her neck and carried off the field, in hogtie fashion...

and now we are at today. preparing for the extraction. anxiously awaiting a procedure and hopefully waking up with as little pain as possible, but dude...please let me wake up.

things will be different from now on. alcohol is no longer a friend to me, it drives into me and leaves gaping trails of distruction and i dont remember them, even when they loom to repeat on the horizon.

i will face all of this with conciousness intact. for my family.

becky*