I'm know I'm PMSing, BUT STILL!

I literally burst into tears. So much hope mingled with so much fear. Praying that the hope truimphs.

Click Here

Double-Dooce-Cute

The cutest thing I've seen all day is this woman's daughter.

The only thing cuter than her daughter's baby pictures are her dog's baby pictures. Scroll down for 'em.

Cuteness is good for the soul.

Dooce may be famous, but she seems to live a rather mundane (although constipated) life. Another nice thing for me to see: someone who's got the whole married-with-kids thing figured out... And who still maintains a kick-ass blog.

I've been reading her for awhile, but today's pictures just knocked me OUT. Snaps to ya, Heather.

Feelings, Memories, Wishes

I find myself wondering how much easier this situation would be if I had my grandma with me. For the first few years I lived in New York, she was 2 trains and a taxi away in Jersey City, with a full kitchen and open arms, and I took full advantage. I told myself (and my parents) that I was going there to spend time with her for her sake, but I know now it was really for me. She was there for me, better than any therapist, closer than my best friends.

When I never thought I'd get over the heartbreak of that one big relationship I left behind me in Illinois, she showed Mom's prom pictures, and we laughed at the hairstyles. She showed me old photos of her and Grandpa, and we'd just sit and miss him, subtly reminding me that I wasn't the only broken heart in the world. When I was screaming in disgust at the crappy "school" I went through, she spat in the air and cursed them right along with me. And when I just felt miserable, we'd catalog-shop together, and talk about all the nice places we'd like to go, all dressed up in imaginary finery. Sunday mornings I'd accompany her to St. Patrick's cathedral and feel peaceful and surrounded by love, with Our Holy Lady smiling down on us, a symbol of motherhood, and of comfort.

Last Friday I re-registered with my old temp agency. They gushed over me. My skills were high, they'd received a fat placement fee for me four years ago, they were thrilled to have me back. They were confident I'd be placed by Tuesday. Well, it's Thursday, no placement, and I just claimed another week of unemployment.

My roommate and I aren't speaking. I'm not really angry at her anymore. We just aren't a good match, and a couple of weeks ago, the powder keg exploded. Since then she's decided to hate me and never speak to me again, and I've accepted that I can't really change that, so I'm just trying to live around her. She's moving out in February, and, just like last year, I have to find a new roommate or lose my place. It was hell then, and I hope it won't be hell this time. I really don't need this extra layer of stress, but there it is.

I don't feel like calling my parents and listening to them sound helpless and worried on the other end of the phone. I don't feel like talking about this to anyone, really. I just want it over.

If Grandma were here, and healthy, if this were 1996, I'd be sitting in her kitchen eating leftover spaghetti with Ricotta cheese, and she would just sit there, watching me eat and cry, waiting until I was ready to look at catalogs.

I miss her so much.

I haven't watched this muchTV in a long time...

OMIGOD! I just saw his commercial on TV! Like, JUST NOW. On ABC.

It is so cool seeing people I know on TV.

In other news, it seems the cast of Santa Barbara is now employed on ABC. It looks like Nancy Lee Grahn, Jed Allan, and Robin Mattson are on General Hospital, and I think Marcy Walker and Vincent Irizarry are on All My Children. I generally don't watch ABC, so I'm out of my element here, but I swear, I'm having all these Santa Barbara flashbacks.

And God, I miss SB sometimes. That was just the best damn doap ever. Though I've been a loyal Days fan for >gasp< 18 years, it's sucking these days.

I was a huge Another World fan too. I practically cried when it went off the air. Actual Actors in daytime? Doing Actual Acting?? No really, there were. Sigh. The fact that the drivel that is Passions was the reason for its cancellation just twisted the knife. Even after 5 years, I couldn't care less about those characters, and the writing just gets worse and worse. Ugh.

I have a list of people who I knew in the past who went on to successful careers in entertainment, and I have a lot of fun remembering who they used to be during the time I spent with them years ago. I'm always so proud to see someone I know get where they want to be, whether it's on TV or married or that dream vacation they always talked about. I know that when I was a teenager, I desperately wanted to be a performing artist myself, but I think what I really wanted was just to get out of Springfield, IL. I remember not really knowing if I wanted to be an actress, a musical theatre actress, a singer with a band, an opera singer... I just wanted out, and theatre/film/music seemed like the best excuse in the world NOT to stay in Springfield, IL. And, for me, in the end, that's exactly what it was.

Too bad I had to blow 15 grand on a worthless training program, but whatever.

This guy (who I went to high school with) is very focused, and a nationwide presence as the Alka-Seltzer guy ain't a bad jump. After all, remember the Noxema girl who went on to star in her own series, and make a few movies?

I could link to a bunch of other people, but I've already posted enough for one day. Although I'm thinking I could add a section to my links column... Hmm..

I still have no idea what I really want to be when I grow up, but I have a few ideas I'd like to try.

Right now, I'm waiting for the temp agency to call me back and give me someplace to go tomorrow AM. In the meantime, Oprah is featuring Married men who are gay and the Wives who had no clue.

No really, I swear, she really is.

LORD do I need a job.

What Kind of Girl Are You?

I am a hybrid of: Indie Girl Progressive Girl Click on the pictures below to read more: Take the 'What Kind of Girl Are You?' quiz at CookingToHookup.com

Maybe I can skip this flick...

In today's Village Voice, Michael Atkinson reviews Celsius 41.11: The Temperature at Which the Brain Begins to Die, the conservative's response to Farenheit 9/11.

"In effect a feature-length Bush campaign commercial co-produced by the Christian-libertarian director of The Hanoi Hilton, this desperate four-waller (its screens paid for by Citizens United, a neocon activist group led by the shitbags responsible for Willie Horton) deliberately apes Michael Moore's modus operandi, minus the humor or any sense of sympathy for real people. Instead, Charles Krauthammer, Michael Medved, scheming oil billionaire Mansoor Ijaz, and other dead-eyed right-wing dicks lie, blab scurrilous generalities, leap to idiotic conclusions, and justify every Bush crime with the doctrine of "American exceptionalism." (In and of itself, this Hitlerian given explains a good deal about what looks like unchecked imperialism to the rest of the world.) Moore's most discomfiting disclosure—the Bush family's substantial and well-documented ties to the bin Laden family, among a network of other under-the-radar economic affiliations—goes undisputed. Footage of terrorist attacks is plentiful, images from Baghdad are absent, and as background to the Kerry defamations a guitarist wails, "John boy, John boy, which way is the wind blowin'. . . . You're the one with your finger in the air . . . "

Certainly, the repetitive, confrontational use of 9-11 footage—something Moore tastefully avoided—signals a certain war-machine mentality whose idea of fairness is to make sure Bill Clinton receives as many curled-lip slams as Kerry. Even so, the blind temerity required for one of the talking asses to equate Moore's critical pronouncements with Orwellian newspeak is breathtaking. It's clear to even the jaundiced eye how the Manichaean conclusions carefully voiced in this red-alert screed could both comfort and petrify the ignorant. But the even faintly informed will see only a cut-rate vision of flabby white men defending their own bloodthirsty opportunism."

The New York Times has a review of their own, which is just as interesting, but that most people won't need a dictionary to get through.

I love that the Voice assumes all of its readers are that well educated. But come on. "Manichaean?" "Screed?" Sheesh.

Anti-Hangover Breakfast

I SO could have used this the morning after our debauchery. Since a lot of us around here tend to live the high life, I thought some of you might appreciate this reportedly fool-proof hangover remedy.

This hottie can cook for me anytime. Hey doc, I make one hell of a Martini.

Damn geography...

Results...

From his blog...


Congratulations! You are Bree Van De Kamp, the
Martha Stewart on steroids, whose family is
about to mutiny.


Which Desperate Housewife are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


Oh come on. Like I could NOT do this quiz??

I tried the housewife thing immediately after I got married in 2000. It lasted about 2 months before I started chewing the wallpaper with boredom.

And I love Marcia Cross. Such wonderful buzz-saw-to-the-skull Melrose Place Memories.

By the Way...

I'm using and digging the ability to make your Blog Post Title an actual link. For example, if you click on the Title to my Sausage and Peppers essay, it takes you to an article called "Depression Precedes Eating Disorder in Some Women." The Title of my post written from my Hometown took you to my hometown's homepage.

Go on! Try it! It's so cool!

In other news, I am currently excited about working for the following companies, who now have my resume, and only need to to interview me to see how perfect I would be for their positions:

The International Rescue Committee Who WOULDN'T want to be part of this?

Beth Israel Medical Center (I used to temp there! All great teams at that place. And yes, duh, I made a networking call already.)

Mount Sinai/NYU Medical Center One of the few hospitals in New York that I have yet to work at. They have an opening that perfectly fits my skills. Zowee!

EChalk This organization helps develop grade schools in New York. Their Mission Statement: "eChalk's mission is to develop and deliver affordable Web-based communication systems designed specifically for K-12 schools, districts, counties and states, with the goal of enhancing collaboration between students, teachers, parents, and administrators." Man, I wish MY school district had a resource like this...

Come on screeners, don't bounce me! Take a chance! One little interview! You'll be SO glad!

Tut Tut, it Should be Raining Money...

Another interesting fact about MzOuiser: I am really into astrology. Stop laughing. I totally believe in it. I absolutely believe that, as above, so below. It’s like the weather - you can’t predict exactly what’s going to happen, but it helps decide sweater, umbrella or shorts, so to speak.

That said, my favorite weathergirl must not be getting good data from my corner of the universe, or maybe my parents lied to me and I'm not a Virgo after all:

This will be a fabulously rewarding financial month, so when you go out with friends, it looks like you'll be picking up the check! You'll be happy to do so!

WE ARE HALFWAY THROUGH IT. I AM BROKER THAN I HAVE EVER BEEN. NO JOB. NO LEADS.

With FIVE heavenly bodies stacked up in your earned income sector, news could be so wonderful that you may not believe your ears. To get your due, you will need to ask for your raise-don't waste time hoping someone will think of offering you one. Remember the axiom: we don't necessarily get what we deserve in life, but rather, we get what we negotiate. If your boss says she can't afford to give you more money, check your opportunities elsewhere. Star power this strong won't be back for over a decade, so use this to the fullest before it fades!

Oh I get it - I need to network. GEE, YA THINK? What on earth have I been doing these last 2.5 months!? My network is not returning my phone calls or emails. Don’t ask me for details, I’ll just throw up.

At month's end, when the new moon eclipse arrives on October 28, you may make a final decision about going back to college/grad school, or about a pleasure trip abroad. In either case, you will have made the right choice.

Now this is good. Screw “pleasure trip,” I’ve been wanting to go back to school for a long time, and yes, I’m actually beginning to put together an application packet. Because when you’re unemployed and your severance is running out, nothing makes you feel better about the future than the prospect of incurring another $60,000 worth of debt.

Come on, Susan. What am I missing here!?

Sausage and Peppers, and Family

One of the reasons my Grandma went to live with my parents about 7 years ago was her eating habits - or specifically the fact that she didnÂ’t eat. If there was nobody to cook for, she didn't cook. If she did have a guest, often she would just cook for her guest, and pick at a small plate of something for herself.

Grandma was an Italian gourmet - the old-school southern Italian Mama with the thick red sauces, the incredible garlicky fish-and-pasta dinners, the fresh bread, the sausages from the butcher, the hand-mixed salad dressing that nobody else could get quite right, the deep-fried pastries that her mother used to make, the piles of little fish that she painstakingly deboned for us every New Year's Eve. This woman, not eating at all. Food had lost all its appeal for her. My Dad said that when they made the decision to move her permanently to Illinois, she weighed about 80 pounds. She had given away to charity most of her good cooking pots. She just hadnÂ’t been eating. Crying, cleaning, watching TVÂ… not eating.

Hlonelinessess had been consuming her. The older she grew, the more life seemed to fall away from her. Grandpa died in 1985, Mom married and moved far away, her siblings and friends died out one a time over the years. The school where she volunteered eventually had to retire her, well into her 70's, when she became unsteady on her feet, and forgetful. Once she hit 80, she was spending weeks at a time all alone. Her life, essentially, was over, and the Lord didn't take her home. Thankfully her daughter and son-in-law did. I think we all fear to wind up living this way, old, not really healthy, alone. Who would want to get out of bed, never mind eat?

Within a year of moving in with my parents, she gained 20 pounds. For several years, until the Alzheimer's took hold, she was happy again.

There is a strong lesson here.

My mother always believed she was fat. She was a black-haired Shirely Temple child, huge eyes and cheeks and smile, chubby and giggly. By the time she was 13 she had a luscious hourglass figure, not many friends (jealous bitches), and cousins who called her fat and four-eyes all the time. By the time she was 15, she had a steady boyfriend with teen-idol looks and a '57 Chevy. The photos of her in high school and college are incredible. She was sexy as hell. She went to College, dated around, wore miniskirts. In Graduate school, she married a brilliant young doctor, and had a baby (me).

However, in the 1960's, she wasn't Michelle Phillips, so in her mind, she was fat.

When I was a year old, Dad got a professorship that moved us to Springfield, Illinois, 5 states away from her home of New Jersey. She was surrounded by suburban hillbillies. Holier-than-thou-Christian, anti-feminist, racist neighbors. Nobody in our neigborhood had half the education she had. She joined some local organizations, trying to make friends, and met lots of snobby elitist Stepfordian wives of local doctors and lawyers.

When I was about 5, I chose to play with friends instead of spending time with her, and she freaked out. She started over-eating, and she was eating crap. A bag of chips a night. By the time I was 10, she had ballooned. The more my personality developed, the less in common we seemed to have, and the more depressed she became. I was a complete stranger to her - she had no idea what to do with me. I was all she thought she had. She couldn't relate to me at all, and it just killed her.

Dad was distant, utterly absorbed in his work, never home, and cold to her when he was home, sleeping on the couch and disappearing into televised sports. Mom despserately needed his company, and they didn't know how to communicate. The classic family scenario from the 1970's. Nobody ever suggested that this was wrong or unhealthy. After all, she had it pretty good, in comparison. Her closest friends and family were half a country away, in New Jersey and Connecticut. Her closest new friends in Springfield were an alcoholic and a woman who was married to an alcoholic. Mom ate compulsively, and I don't blame her. Frankly, I don't know how she survived it. Many women in her position would have attempted suicide.

She was damn tough though. Stubborn as hell. She survived it. She got therapy. She made newer, better friends. She is still big, but she has that hourglass figure back, and doesn't seem to focus on it too much. And she eats healthier than most people I know - no caffeine, no extra sugar, fat-free everything, virtually no alcohol at all. She is still hanging out with people she has very little in common with, but there is a very different dynamic... she seems to have let go of something. She seems in control of her life. She is wanted and appreciated. She's less angry. And she's got that 5-year old smile back, dimples and all.

At 58, I think she is light-years ahead of where her mother was at that age, in the self-awareness department. I'm proud of her.

As for me, I started the not-eating thing when I was in high school. I had very few friends, and my friends, like me, were dorks. Oh yeah, I was a big dork with a constantly running nose all through grade school. In high school, I drowned myself in community theatre so I'd have a life of some sort, knowing my peers were going to movies and dances with boyfriends and friends. My mom didn't believe in fashion, so I wore my cousin's hand-me-downs to school. This was the 1980's. The occasional new clothes came from Zayre's - a local version of K-Mart. I appreciated my friends, but never stopped torturing myself over being constantly rejected by the people I really wanted to hang with. The best days in school were the days when I was ignored. The worst days I have tried to erase from my mind.

Whenever I was angry or sad, I lost my appetite. If I tried to eat in an emotional state, my stomach would churn and I couldn't keep the food down. I went through a few years in high school where I only ever ate dinner, because my parents were there, and I didn't want them wise to my eating problems. My relationship with Mom was torrid. I didn't trust her to deal with me compassionately, and I didn't trust my Dad to protect me from her. I loved my dad and desperately wanted to make him happy, so when he made me breakfast, I would eat it, but couldn't keep it down for long. I never managed to get through first period at school without throwing up. I was thin and knew it. I knew underneath the stupid clothes I had a great figure, so body image wasn't the reason. I just didn't want to eat. My constant stress made food taste tinny, and my stomach was always sick. My sophomore year in high school, I had a Heath bar and a coke almost every day for lunch, partly so I wouldn't have to go into the cafeteria. For an entire year.

My saving grace was the fact that because my mother had me in ballet classes since the age of 4, I knew all about Anorexia, and what happened to girls who refused to eat, or threw up their food. I saw the girls in my dance classes file in and out of the hospital. Beautiful young ballerinas, looking magical in their tiaras and tutus, mysteriously vanished from the stage at 16. Some never returned. Some did, reappearing in the audience a few years later, coming backstage to say hi to old friends, looking tired, wistful, and sad.

I heard harrowing stories of the "treatment" they had received for their "illness." I knew I had to at least convince everyone else I was eating, or I'd be locked away with needles stuck in my arms. I knew what would happen to me if I was caught.

But underneath it all, I knew that not eating could kill me. I have always, all my life, wanted to live life, and never gave up hope that somehow, in the future, something might chnge my life for the better. Some inexplicable survival instinct always took over. Probably, the same one that kept my mother alive, and the same one that kept my Grandmother going.

I also could never refuse to eat my Grandmother's food. If she was there, I ate. I ate for her, and I loved it. There were some years when the only meals I enjoyed were the ones I shared with Grandma.

I started eating normally, and enjoying it, at 19, when I found what at that time was a fantastic, loving, supportive boyfriend, and started college. I briefly stopped eating again a few years later, when we broke up, but this time I ran straight to counseling, and pulled myself together. Today, I catch myself from time to time, not often, going a day without eating, when I'm sad or terrified about something. I fix it by calling a friend and asking them to come eat with me. It never lasts more than a day. And it might happen once a year.

My mother commented recently that this is just one more way in which I am "so like my Grandmother." I smiled wanly. Genetics is a wild ride.

When she says things like that, I swear, I can hear my mother thinking "And one more way that you are SO NOT like me." I wonder if it would be any consolation to her if she could recognize her mother in me, looking out at her through my eyes? Would it help her to understand me a bit more? Or would she feel even more alienated, left out of some intensely deep bond my Grandmother and I shared through our likeness?

My Grandmother, my Mother and I are such distinctly different people, and also so very alike. Like all families. Because of all our counseling, and having Mental Health Professionals in the family and friends category, I like to think we're a little better at working through things than other women. We're probably not.

Grandma is gone now, never to be sad or lonely again. I see her in Heaven, with her own huge restaurant-sized dining room, serving the best eggplant parmesan an Archangel ever had, while Grandpa eyes all guys tucking napkins in their white robes, making sure nobody makes eyes at his Tootsie. Down here on earth, Mom and I swap recipes for low-fat vegetarian dinners, groan at how much we miss eating pounds of chocolate, and commiserate about inaccurate scales and clothes that shrink. We talk about how much we miss eating Grandma's sausage and peppers... and quietly admit nobody will ever make them like she did. Mom and I remember food. We crave it at times. But we also remember binging and starving and hating ourselves.

Underneath it all, I don't think it's the food we really miss. I think we have both learned a lot. I think we have made great strides.

Italians, you know. In the new world. In the new millennium.

Deleted

Well, really, it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to, but I can't leave that last post up.

My blog has, in many ways, over the last year, become a mirror that I look into, trying to see more clearly what's going inside my head, and my life. It was an honest post, but not how I want to see myself at all, or how I want to be seen.

I guess "Don't blog about work" has many layers.

Me at 14... talking to Me at 33.

I can't decide if this is the most self-indulgent post ever... or if it's just the most intimate post ever.

Maybe I'm feeling like I'm one of thousands of people going through this sort of thing, so I don't care who reads it. Or maybe... maybe I'm hoping that by making it public... I won't feel so... damn. I have no idea.

So I'm just going to post it. It's the last page of a seven-page conversation I had with myself and God today. (Thank you.) I'm really just posting this for me to read to myself, and sit with the fact that I've exposed this part of myself for the world to see. Something about that feels important. Maybe because I far prefer to talk about my Mom and Dad, or my other friends, or the benfits of organic produce, or how much Days sucks these days.

I never do anything halfway. :)

So, this is just for me.

************************************************************************

LittleMe: I’m really scared.

BigMe: Come here. (They hug.) I can buy you a salad… some skim milk… will that cheer you up just a little?

LittleMe: A Heath Bar. It won’t fix anything though.

BigMe: Can you do something for me, for free? Can I ask you something?

LittleMe: Shoot.

BigMe: Do you like me?

LittleMe: I would love you… if you were real.

BigMe: What makes you think I’m not real!? I’m REAL!! I’m right here, aren’t I? I just hugged you!

LittleMe: I can’t see myself ever growing up to be you.

BigMe: Well… all I can say is, we can’t see the future.

LittleMe: You’re just… a really cool idea.

BigMe: Can’t I at least be something to shoot for? The top of the stack?

LittleMe: Well, if you were the top of the stack you’d have several CD’s out and be singing and acting on Broadway or Vegas or Palermo, wouldn’t you?

BigMe: Alright, hot shot, I’ll be the second rung from the top. Would it be so awful to grow up to be me?

LittleMe: Are you kidding? It would be fantastic.

BigMe: So… maybe I could be real then?

LittleMe: (scrutinizing) I guess it’s not COMPLETELY outside the realm of possibility.

BigMe: Ok. So Maybe I am real.

LittleMe: Maybe you will be someday.

BigMe: Back to my question now: Will you like me when I’m real?

LittleMe: Wow. I have no idea.

BigMe: Why? Why can’t you say you will like me?

LittleMe: (beat) I really don’t want to hurt your feelings with this… but I’m afraid I just don’t believe in you.

They look at each other a long time.

BigMe: You haven’t hurt my feelings. But I’m really sad to hear that.

LittleMe: I’m sorry. I want to believe in you. Maybe when I was seven…

BigMe: I understand. Maybe it’s too late. (silence) Is it too late for you to believe in me?

LittleMe: I don’t know. Is it?

************************************************************************

God: You know Ouiser, a lot of people don’t believe in themselves.

BigMe: No offense, but it doesn’t help my situation to know that.

God: It doesn’t make you feel less alone?

BigMe: Nope. What good is being one of thousands of miserable people? What I want is to not be miserable.

God: What does what you want have to do with this conversation?

BigMe: Shouldn’t I be asking you that question? (beat) Oh. I guess I just did. (beat) Uh, God… I need some direction here.

God: You can ask me anything.

BigMe: What exactly is this conversation about anyway?

God: You’re hurting. You’re trying to listen to yourself and take care of yourself. You’re trying to address old wounds, work through them.

BigMe: Yeah… but I’m lost. I feel like I’m just thinking in circles.

God: So… scroll up. Make a list of points.

BigMe: This is seven pages long already!!

God: This isn’t college. There’s no page length requirement.

BigMe: Right. Ok then.

Ouiser has not yet made her list of points. Instead, she went to the grocery store for skim milk.

[Insert Title Here]

I'm back.

Being home was regressive. Mom and I didn't kill each other, but I sure yelled at my Dad a lot, and I feel like shit for it. Their house is far from all nicely cleaned out and set up. I had this fantasy of being able to work hard enough to fit all Grandma and Grandpa's things in their house neatly, all boxes unpacked and the contents in appropriate places. I wanted to leave my parent's home looking like a page out of a magazine... oh come on, who was I kidding? Boxes full of stuff are stacked in every room. Stacks of Kodak envelopes filled with photos are waiting to be set into albums. At least I got them the albums. And I did clean out a couple of closets.

Mom is happy with what I did. Neither of my folks wanted me to leave.. but then, they never do.

I have a huge essay that I'm writing about it... but I don't feel right posting it just yet. I'm out of the blogging closet, so to speak. A lot of folks know who MzOuiser is. And my parents, I'm sure, aren't comfortable with me talking about family issues here. So out of respect for them... I'll be circumspect.

For now.

Family was everything to me for a long time... but a lot of family members have let me down over the years. Mom and Dad, God bless them, are always there for me in whatever ways they can be, but I feel very alone in recent years. I'm not close to my cousins anymore, not like when we were kids. My aunts and uncles have virtually nothing in common with me. I mean pretty much nothing. Some relatives I'd just as soon never see or talk to again. That makes me sad. It makes my parents sad to hear me say it.

I hate making my parents sad. I do it a lot.

I sent out somewhere around 10 resumes today. I have sent out over a thousand total by now. No nibbles. Zilch.

I don't want to do anything except journal, extract essays from my journaling, and churn out some more music. My father put his guitar into my hands last week, and taught me one chord. If I could have brought three carry-ons on the plane, it would be here with me now... so I have to go get one cheap somewhere, to practice with. Wish me luck. Nothing's cheap in New York. People want hundreds of dollars for crap.

Stop rolling your eyes, I'm serious. If she can sing, I can play guitar.

For a few days, Marge and I are staying in Nyack at Chez Boyfriend. When he came home tonight, he quietly told me that he liked coming home to me. Something inside me glowed. For all the limbo my relationship may be in right now, we love each other... and that matters.

My parents love each other, and it's everything.

I miss my Grandparents dreadfully, more these days than ever before. Sometimes it's an actual physical ache inside me, a hole in my sternum that just aches. My Mom and I spent a lot of time holding each other while I was visiting. I can still feel her arms around me, supporting me and leaning on me at the same time.

Family.

I need a job, but all I want to do is write.

I'll keep you posted.