Significant Happenings

1. Received a card from K-Dawg! A friendly one! Did dance of joy and slept through a whole night for once.

2. Bought romaine lettuce and ate some of it; a sadly rare occurrence.

3. Awoke at 2am Saturday morning with words running around in my head. Wrote them down. First time this has happened in perhaps a year.

4. Had a difficult jam session with Arnie, at the end of which I was near tears.

5. Wrote a letter to Gutter because he was in a dream I had Saturday morning and I always feel compelled to tell people when they're in my dreams, but now I don't know where to send it because I don't know where the hell he is and his mom's address is unlisted.

6. Had pizza at Peenohcheeoh's with Meera and Ross, and then we proceeded to The Garage to sit at a table and read/write letters and feel calm and smart.

7. Did not kill H-Bomb during a roommate-bonding movie event. Even shared Rootbeer Float ingredients with her! So kind.


Missed:

1. A night at An Tua Nua with Chessman and Ann because the phone was a big issue this weekend.

2. A chance to see Blue Man Group with this guy I don't really know but would go with anyway.

3. A phone call from my mother, thank god, which led her to leaving the following message:

"Hi Joey, it's your mother. I just called because I miss hearing your voice and I get to hear your voice when I call. I'm thinking about you and loving you."

Along with feeling a little creeped out that she calls just to hear my voice say, "You've reached Heather and Jo, please leave a message," I also had immediate tears in my eyes. I've been talking with Baby Mama about getting a day off so I can take a train to Le Victoire, and just talking about it fills me with anxiety. The trip home, I mean, not the day off - Baby Mama offered no resistance.

I try not to get worked up about it, but it seems to be beyond my control. I'll just be sitting around, sorting laundry, eating a grape perhaps, and my mind will start reeling with the possible awfulness of a trip home. I recall garish scenes and extrapolate them to their most painful conclusions, usually something involving a family member knifing me during an after-dinner brawl.

But the tears were guilty ones, the kind my mother wrings out most efficiently. I should call her and go home to see everyone for the simple reason that I can. They're a six-hour drive away, not in, say, Seattle or Singapore. I keep saying this to myself. It's not like I'm in England or Ireland. There's really no excuse.

And there's Baby Girl to think about, as well as the ever-widening gulf between myself and my brothers. How do I get them to like me?

I can't believe I just wrote that.