Had a great time last night watching my boy launch one out high over left center! Eat it, haters! All while discussing poets and writing with Josh Ergle. We touched upon the meaning of life, but the metal bleachers were hurting so badly, we were clearly distracted. (What sadist suggested the ridges in the metal bleachers?)

The meaning of my life can't be about becoming a vagabond and protesting materialism. I don't have that luxury. Hell, I think I'm close on the no material thing, but not by choice. I think I'll protest non-materialism by leading a profligate life. Here's to dreaming of excess! And to excessive dreaming. Clink. I want some expensive perfume, athletic shoes with no holes in them, an appointment at a salon. I want a professional massage and a trip to the gynecologist. I am out of control....The meaning of my life is suppressing guilt and fighting for time with Tracy Miller. Both are difficult.

I wonder if our loved ones see us. If my dad sees me. If he is happy, sorry, interactive in any way.

I was talking to my great friend Missi the other night. She and I are like so many others. I have yet to shed a single tear about ending my "marriage" ( and I won't), but the guilt of breaking apart my kids' family will never go away. Literal buckets of tears on that front. I think that is why I still talk about it. I have been asked why I bring up that part of my life. It's because I broke something in my children. It will always be broken. I spent every thought, all my energy, and my whole heart trying to protect them. It was their lives, what they thought was true. Even if I was lying, they believed it. So their legs got knocked out. Via me. I know it's over and done. Thank God. But I walk around with it, and it's a death. We can't be innocent forever, right?

So I make private vows. I don't talk about them. I won't. But I will do this, and I will not do that. I have resolve even though I seem flighty. Squaring up. Love to everybody.