Decisions

Yesterday my cousin Lesley & I surprised Janelle by cooking supper and having a little celebration for her brand new private practice. Yup. She pretty much knocked the ball out of the park in an interview with a group of progressive but grounded counselors, shrinks, and assorted therapists here in the I.C. So they invited her to join their loose affiliation, rent an office space, and start counseling. Word up. So last week was Janelle’s first week on the job. She’s doing well at it, too.

But anyway, Lesley, who is sixteen years old and living with us for the month of June and part of July, and myself - we fried up some chicken for Janelle. As a way of saying Congratulations. We also framed her grad school diploma. And made her a card. And poured her a glass of the world’s cheapest wine. And got a bunch of people to call and leave voicemail messages wishing her well, which I then edited with Garage Band to make an inspirational, personalized little sound clip that she can listen to whenever the wolves start closing in. Wolves of minutiae. Wolves of self-doubt. You know…the goddamn wolves.

But now it’s 8 a.m. and I’ve been up since 6 with my daughter who really just wants to scream Yes! At life nonstop, and runs, plays, bites the world, leaps, falls, cries, dances, and refuses to be demurely cuddled or condescended to in any of the usual adult world “oh ain’t she cute” ways, because she’s too large for it, and then when you least expect it, she puts her head on your shoulder and kisses your ear and you say something to the ol’ Unmoved Mover, like I don’t know, maybe something like Thank You Old Timer. But she’s worn herself thin and is now back to sleep with her Ma (who sleeps in when she can, since she’s the hardest working therapist in the therapy biz), while I’m wide awake, which is our usual routine these days. So I’m going to write now and see if I can get Doc Holiday (the geometrical center of my short story/novella) to do or say anything interesting this morning. And now I look up and see that Janelle is awake too, so I have a difficult choice to make: write or have coffee with my good gal. Decisions, decisions…