Hey, how are you? (Really, I want to know.)

The man and me. Photo and styling by Lindsey Shores. 

Sometimes I wish you and I could sit across from each other and say,

“Hey. How are you doing? How are things going? Anything excited, sad, needed or wanted?”

And then we would talk about it all over a cheese plate and limonatas. Driving home you and I would feel refreshed, understood and ready for the next day.

It would be really, really nice.

Can we just pretend you asked and that there is bread and balsamic vinegar and oil and our elbows on the table?

I am doing pretty darn well. The last few weeks were hard. There wasn’t a reason, really. Just fear and fatigue and the can’t do it even if I trieds. Stupid, really. And on the other side I can see that. But when you are in it, those mean reds, those blues that yell, it is hard to remember there is another side. Funny how everything on the other side is completely the same, except for the way you feel.

I dyed my hair red. Zuzu says it makes my eyes LOOK THIS MUCH BIGGER, MOM! It may, but it has also stained my pillow an unsettling diluted blood pink. Worth the trade off so far, I think.

Exciting things? I am writing a novel. A real book. One with pages and chapters and words that came from me. It may not be any good, but it will be mine. And right now, that is enough. (Kind of sounds like I am talking about a wayward child, which is not so far off.)

Breathe. I can do it. (Or maybe not. But I am going to try.)

Also, starting today I am going to be a weekly guest on The Matt Townsend Show every Tuesday at 4:30 on Sirius XM Channel 143. (You can also stream it here.)  I am delighted. And nervous. And so afraid of dry mouth I am on the 153 ounces of daily water intake plan. Listen in and send good thoughts my way, won’t you?

There are so few things that I need right now. I realize that statement puts me in the tiniest minority of people throughout world history. I know it isn’t fair. I know it means that there is so much I must give. I know it may change.

I know.

What do I want? More of this. More sticky baby fingers around my neck, more writing, more bacon, more hope and reaching and stars that are never touched, more dancing in the rain, more time with my parents, more books, more worlds to fall into and woods to emerge from, more husband with a bow tie and eyes that see me. More of yesterday piled into all my tomorrows.

Please.

Now, you. How are you? Tell me all about it and take your time. So what if it is late and the cheese is eaten and the balsamic sopped. I will just waive the waiter over and order dessert.

There's no rush.