School is almost out, so I'll be writing here every day in June. On my honor, I will try ....
I have a lot to say. I hope some of it will be amusing, even clever. Some of what I write this month might piss a few people off. I'm unpacking the need to please everybody, so I'm not going to worry about that. As Anne Lamott said, "You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." Yes, indeedy. Preach it, Anne.
Life has been a little crazy this past month. Teaching teenagers is always a story a minute. Whether it's a student getting a blow job in the stairwell or .... well, what the fuck tops that?
Elvira, Coraline and I made an unplanned trip to Iowa last weekend for the funeral of my mom's husband of 30 years. He was only 63, and, although he was being treated for colon cancer, nobody expected him to die. It was the first time all of Mom's kids have been together in over 15 years. Bittersweet in more ways that I can write about here. On that trip, I humiliated myself worse than I can even remember. I will probably tell that story, because I deserve it. I won't tell the heart-breaking parts of the trip, even though I know many of you would relate.
I am not at all surprised I spent Memorial Day weekend -- the dreaded Memorial Day weekend -- in Iowa for a funeral. I wish I could get over the morbid anticipation of this weekend every year, but apparently my dread is entirely rational.
And yet, taking a road trip with my girls was delightful, and I treasure the time we spent together. No, really. Driving 2000 miles with a 2-year-old isn't as hard as it would seem, especially with a Steven King book on CD playing on the stereo.
My son Drake is home this weekend with his handy-penis. (More on Drake's penis later, because it deserves a post of its own.) He's helped me with several projects, and we went to a birthday party last night.
I have some other drama bubbling along in my life like acid in a Vincent Price movie, and I'll be ranting about that after I file the police report. Nothing more I can say until then.
As I write tonight, Drake and one of his high school friends are downstairs in the living room catching up, maybe eating a pizza. I find comfort in their manly presence after the scare I had earlier with the dog. I have a stack of poems and short stories to grade by tomorrow, but I'm going to try working in the morning instead of staying up until 4:00 am. Can't hurt to experiment.
What have you been up to?