Sometimes I think I need a cell phone booster for my brain. I’ve been staring at the same paragraph for an hour, trying to focus on the article I’m trying to write. It’s not difficult material. It’s material I’ve already written at least twice, and merely need to rephrase, in essence plagiarizing myself, but the words swim on the page, and nothing resolves into coherence, and I feel lost…
It’s not the writing. It’s that my head is killing me and my mother left a message that a woman, a family friend from our Modesto days, who was very much a surrogate grandmother to my stepbrother and me, who taught me piano, whose husband introduced me to art concepts I never knew existed, who always talked to me like an adult, and encouraged me to keep writing when I was ready to never type another word, is in a nursing home, hooked up to Oxygen, close to death, and she’s in Palm Springs, so it’s not like I can go visit.
I’m having a bit of a personal melt-down today. I literally was in tears on the phone to Fuzzy, begging for a cheeseburger and a holiday blast from Sonic. “It’s the kind of day only junk food can fix,” I said. .
“Can’t I fix it?” he offered sweetly.
“Yes,” I said. “You can bring me the stupid cheeseburger.”
Yeah, it’s been that kind of a day.