our current and temporary trajectory
Welcome to Mommy’s El Camino. Make yourself at home.
11/9/24
…what to write/how to write into the future that feels so overwhelmingly bleak. How to stay sharp and focused on the here and now. The future, too, because I’m living with a young person who has, presumably, an entire future to look forward to if the planet remains intact, if her area of earth still stands.
11/6/24
A handful of morning hours, frozen, then I began to thaw. Listened to the people I sit with once a week, out among the golden hills, and the terrible jacked-up trucks with Trump/Vance stickers and thin blue line flags and a banner for Steve Garvey. Cried while listening to them and didn’t try to hide it.
11/12/10
The contractions will start at noon on my grandmother’s birthday. In the evening we’ll be a few hours into counting contractions, clocking 8-10 minute intervals between them, walking around Sunset and Vine.
11/10/24
I had to call a party meeting. A meeting about the almost 14-year-old’s upcoming birthday party. This is chemo week. This week, 14 years ago, I checked into the hospital and came out with a baby. This week, this year, we’ll go as a family to the same hospital’s cancer center, delivering my partner to her chemo infusion. And at the moment, as far as what’s beyond the trajectory of our house to the school to the cancer center and back, I see it, and I see you. At the moment, we, here, are doing as well as one can hope, amid the dread and fear and loathing outside our current and temporary trajectory.
I hope you’re taking care of you and yours, lovingly, fiercely. Squeezing your hand from here. Thank you for being here.