It’s 10pm on the 11th. I’m just about ready to hit the hay.
I’m super emotional, but it’s not because I’m 36.
I’m happy. And I’m sad, but not for any discernable reason.
I woke up to the sounds of Joe downstairs, puttering around. Then he drove me to LA and I took a photo of a photographer for an interview I’m doing (meta?). I found the photographer at the Disney Concert Hall, went in and got out within 5 minutes (thanks to the helpful and courteous security man at the stairs) and when we got out the sky was strange all afternoon: low clouds with the odd bird flying around (photo below). When we got back home, Alexandra took me out to Starbucks and bought me a Grande Soy Chai Latte with her own gift card (I’ll see the boys tomorrow for the weekend (including Monday! Woot!) but she is going to be gone, so we had our day today). Then we went to the house and watched The Family Stone and picked songs for the CD we want to do together (If anyone has a recording studio, let me know).
Even when I pool all my resources and gather all my strength, I’m still mostly a mess. Picking out what to eat for dinner is almost too much and Joe has to lead me down the grocery aisle feeding me yes or no questions (when I say the words rice and soup, are you happy?) and singing me Little Fat Man to help me through.
But here it is, 10:13 pm on January 11th, 2007, and I’m happy. I may be crying because I can’t seem to control my emotions, but really? I’m happy. And things are great. And Joe made me his famous raspberry donuts and told me he loved me. I know whatever issues I’m having with my sadness and tear ducts isn’t really REAL. It’s hormonal. And everything is fine.
It was a perfect day.