Denver Airport

Me, 16 hours into my flights from California to Utah. “Wait!” you say, “that’s longer than driving.” And yes, dear reader, you are correct. 

Reading books about writers

There are a handful of things I don’t like in the books I read. For example, I don’t like reading books where a young female narrator meets up with an older woman to interview her or write her life story or whatever and then blah blah intertwining plots and somehow they are connected to each other. The Alice Network and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo are examples of this. 

Something even worse is reading a book about someone writing a book. It’s just so meta.  Jo March in Little Women is the perfect example. It’s a book about a woman writing a book about her life. I think this comes from the whole “write what you know” concept that creative writing teachers and also Gabriel Byrne’s character in little women (Frederick?) like to teach. 

I’m currently reading two books. If you know me well, you will be thinking, “only two?” Which is the correct response, honestly. 

On The Road by Jack Kerouac is about a young man who in between writing books and articles and maybe screenplays goes on a series of road trips. 

Beach Read by Emily Henry is about a woman with writer’s block who moves to a beach town in order to write her next romance novel. 

Can I just be done reading about writers? No. Because all the great writers have written about writing. 

They’ve also written about New York.

Because the setting for 79.78% of both fiction and Taylor Swift’s 1989 is….you guessed it, New York. 

When I write a book it will be about a young writer living in New York interviewing or getting to know an older woman as she figures out what to write. 

I just described the plot of how many novels? Cate probably knows. 

Opening Day

Happy opening day! 

I took Gracie to the dog park in Draper where she ran Like crazy. We met up with favorite Kendra and Gracie was so happy to see her. 

Kendra is a boss ER Tech who is crushing it in nursing school. I didn't take any pictures which is a big fail. Next time. 

In the meantime, happy baseball season everyone!

Bernice Bobs Her Hair

Oh my goodness. Audible had a free offering of Five by Fitzgerald. The first story, Bernice Bobs Her Hair is wonderful and complex. I highly recommend it.  Again, free on Audible. 

Duolingo in place of Social Media

Early January I decided that since things were taking SO LONG with my license and life, I might as well use the time to learn Spanish. It became my new social media. I already was conversational albeit somewhat illiterate. This has been helping expand my vocabulary and learn how to write in Spanish. It’s been amazing. It does make me think: how did I ever do this for 4 hours a day in College? Just Spanish Spanish Spanish. Today I reached an important marker for me. Proving to myself that I can still persist and be a lifelong learner. 

March 14

Today is an important day. First of all daylight saving time started, and that means we made it through another cold, dark winter. Or in my case, just dark. Perks of California living. There is honestly just about nothing better than when it starts to stay light at night time. Today I spent 47 minutes outside on my bike. After all the problems with anemia, dizziness, depression etc..., it’s amazing to be able to go outside and do something I love and enjoy it. Tonight, Taylor Swift won her third Album of the Year Grammy. I love to see her thriving. 

On a more serious note, my Grandma died a year ago today which started a series of really difficult things for me, not all of which have resolved. But I've made it through a lot of them which is, to me, something I can say I'm proud of. 

An Actual Nightmare I Had

I was sitting in a chair in a room with a paramedic. I didn’t know him. Suddenly, he pointed out that I was having an a symptomatic spontaneous tension pneumothorax on the right side. Sure enough he was right. At that point, I became short of breath. My blood pressure was 60/42. They were setting up for a chest tube, but I knew I was about to code. I yelled out “Needle!” (Which obviously means needle decompression). I passed out on the ground. The paramedic couldn’t remember where to do it. “Above the second or third rib?! I can’t remember!” I mustered the strength to wheeze, “Third.” He puts the needle in.  It helps. I can breathe. The surgeon removes the needle because thet are going to set up for a chest tube. Then the surgeon decides I shouldn’t get a chest tube until after CT, and first he wants a lateral chest X-ray. I’m sitting there and the pneumothorax starts to expand and expand. I’m turning gray. I can’t breathe. 

I wake up panting and freaking out and am so wound up I can’t fall back asleep. 

This is what happens when I dream about work, which thankfully isn’t often. I assume other people dream about not having the deck of slides for that presentation or showing up naked to work. I dream about dying in a very specific and real way. I would like a dream refund, please. 

On reading and watching tragedies. Also, spoiler alerts.

I’m reading a book called They Both Die at the End. 

I don’t know what it’s about but I can imagine it doesn’t have a happy ending. I’ve always had an affinity for books that are what my mom calls “oppressive.” My mother’s nickname is Pollyanna, so you can imagine that she doesn’t share this affinity. One of my favorite books as a kid was from the Scholastic book fair in fourth grade called Mick Harte was Here. On the first page, maybe even the first line?  his sister (the narrator) tells you that Mick died. She’s writing a book about how he died; he wasn’t wearing a helmet and got hit by a car on his bike. (Was this also a precursor to my life in trauma? Probably). 

I also remember as an eight year old loving the movie ET. You know how everyone was afraid of that movie as a kid? Not me. The part where they are doing CPR and then shocking ET and then he comes back to life! My little heart rejoiced. 

For the last 13 years I’ve been slowly working my way through The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway. Not a one has had a happy ending. In the first one, the wife accidentally shoots and kills her husband on a hunting trip. In the second, a teenager accidentally gets stabbed in the femoral artery while pretend playing matador and bleeds out in minutes. These are the things I read. 

The Fault in Our Stars

Me Before You 

Books that make me sob my eyes out. 

I love an emotional and meaningful death. Dobby in Harry Potter is one example. Also Snape. 

I am pro catharsis. 

So I think it’s strange how I recently read The Song of Achilles and was surprisingly sad at the end because he died. Well not just he died, but that he died because of hubris. That’s the problem though! I knew he died because, hello, I watched Hercules as a kid. I took 9th grade English and knew about Greek tragedies and such. I don’t know why I was expecting something different out of this book, but I was so disappointed in Achilles. He should have made better choices! But he didn’t. He died. 

I was so disappointed in him that I picked up They Both Die at the End. How is this supposed to make me feel better?? 

Licorice Straw

Airport snacks. Don’t panic because it’s Pepsi. They didn’t have Diet Coke. I drink my soda like a grown up. 

Mourner’s Kaddish

I read this poem after Ruth Bader Ginsberg died. Her death sparked something in me. A death and a rebirth. I felt so frustrated at the hypocrisy that lead to appointment of a new Supreme Court judge prior to the election. I felt so frustrated by the general state of politics and Coronavirus denial that I deleted all my social media. I realized that if I wanted to feel less angry, I’d have to do it away from the vitriol I kept reading online. And I haven’t been back. Right now I have no intention of going back. That’s not to say that I’ll never feel like social media has a place in my life, but right now the time away has been cool and refreshing. 

Today on my way back to California after helping my mom recover from a knee replacement, I saw this poem. 

I don’t think there is a better poem about death out there. I once saw an obituary where the family said “if you want to honor our dad, go out and pet a dog.” When I die, I hope that’s what people do. Give me away in love.