Friday, August 9

when the hangover clears

I didn't want to write a post this week, as you may have already guessed from my obvious disregard for my own deadline. And this for wholly undeserving reasons, like having too much to drink the night before.

This will be taken up with Human Resources and disciplinary action taken accordingly, I can assure you.

For starters, let's just say I am going to drive 2,000 miles next week with only a dog for company. Well, and a recently downloaded David Sedaris audiobook. Can you blame me if I sow some wild oats this week? I'm only preparing myself for the crushing self-loathing that will undoubtably set in somewhere around Oklahoma City.

I've spent a considerable amount of time this week laying in bed, thinking about how much I am going to miss my bedroom, my living room, kitchen and bath...the whole place, really. I'm what you might call a homebody. Is that one word? Spellcheck seems to think so, but I'm pretty sure there was a time when 'spellcheck' was not a word. Oh, English language, you tricky little deviant. It's enough to make a grammarian commit suicide.

The best guard against suicide is gratitude. It never fails to surprise me how many people seem affected by what feels like my insignificant life course. Many friends have expressed their love for me over the past weeks. It's a nice reminder that we don't have to be anything amazing to make a difference, to be missed when we're gone. Even if it's just going to New England for a while.

I can hear fireworks from the ballpark, which must mean we won. I love fireworks. Is there a more fleeting celebration of the present? A more reckless disregard for the future? 

We've won. No matter what, life is meant to be breathed deeply, every second celebrated, even the freedom to be hungover.


Thursday, August 8

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