last week and present status

So my dad had a stroke. A TIA, meaning there was no brain damage. He hasn't been the same since he's been home. He's now mortal, and we all know it.

So I was the last one hired, meaning I will be the first to go. Why can't the Universe or God or Fate follow my plans? They're nice plans; you should give them a chance.

Despite all this, I'm okay. I'm writing, which is always a good sign. My writing group lets me bring stories and chapters to read whenever I want. I had lunch in Dallas with friends that live far away and plans for trips to Denver and NYC to see them and another dear friend again. I have too much fun with friends from work who like political rallies and happy hour and museums and movies and brownies and inside jokes (God, how I have missed inside jokes!) and laughing and laughing and laughing.

Sometimes you just need to laugh. Laugh at it all.

bright orange penis

It’s one of those days that you dreaded. You knew was coming, but still weren’t prepared. Someone drew a penis on the margin of a page. A bright orange penis. Maybe I am on the wrong track. Maybe I am being punished. What did I do? What did I do? There was no hope in his voice. What does he care? He is leaving. Maybe you will be able to come back. Linda would want you to. Bruce has only nice things to say about you. A bright orange penis on the margin of a page. I want to run out the door. What does it matter? What does it matter? I’m not coming back next year anyway. Maybe I just need a good exit. You won’t leave. We won’t let you leave. You are wrong. I am leaving. It isn’t over until it’s over. Well, it’s over. The bright orange penis told me so.