And now for something completely different

Home more often. Cleaning more often. Quiet, less anxiety, less skyscrapers. Changing roles is like looking at a mobile from a different angle. Out of the crib. I hate cliches, nothing is more precious now. It's a lot more quiet now, though, and that is a relief.

Notes in cursive

My mother frequently sends me care packages. I don't need them, I'm not in a place where dried goods from trader joes or soft cotton skirts will save me from the brink of homelessness. But there they are, beautiful boxes lined with tissue paper and sticky notes with cursive script "don't put this in the drier, it will shrink" or "you liked these wasabi almonds when you were here" ... And that's why mothers are never done, never an empty nest, never ever will I not need her. I didn't need that but I needed the handwritten note.

Tampax

He knows I am super. Or at least my flow is today. I love him, he's super too.

how it works

"When you lobby for something, what you have to do is put together your coalition, you have to gear up, you have to get your political forces in line, and then you sit there and wait for the fortuitous event. For example, people who were trying to do something about regulation of railroads tried to ride the environment for a while, but that wave didn't wash them in to shore. So they grabbed their surfboards and they tried to ride something else, but that didn't do the job. The Penn Central collapse was the big wave that brought them in. As I see it, people who are trying to advocate change are like surfers waiting for the big wave. You get out there, you have to be ready to go, you have to be ready to paddle. If you're not ready to paddle when the big waves comes along, you're not going to ride it." -an analyst for an interest group so if you want change, be ready for some horrible shit to happen, and then seize the day

Hollywood Boulevard

I see the large purple towel that we inherited from some guest, or that we stole from some guest house lying on the floor in our closet near the hamper. It is there because the other night I used it to wipe away your love. I am reminded of stereotypes. The wife who sparingly has sex, the wife who begrudging does laundry, while scowling. I look up from where I have been squatting, in front of the hamper I see two shoe racks, both racks are mostly empty ... a few pair of sandals, and an old plastic bottle of cheap vodka. I laugh, I laugh because I have seen in there dozens of times, but I have never bothered to throw it out. But today I did, I threw it away ... oh better, I recycled it. There. That makes it all better.