My First Publication in the San Diego Reader

A collection of my Blogs from my online diary, published "as-is" can be seen here, as published on April 29, 2004.

I AM Corybantic

The word of the day is “corybantic,” defined by AWAD as “wild; frenzied; uncontrolled.” Named after some psycho goddess who performed “ecstatic” dances. Okay, WHY am I just now learning this word? I could have used this when I lived in Los Angeles, you know, back in my corybantic days, when I would party corybantically all weekend. What a waste.

Well, at least I have a way to describe myself accurately in retrospect, in my memoirs perhaps. We all think we’re so fucking interesting, don’t we. I admit it. I find myself endlessly fascinating, which is one of the reasons I journal so much. It entertains me to document my interesting thoughts and poignant recollections. It makes me feel like I know myself. Knowing myself helps me figure out what I want and how I want to be.

I’m happy this morning because I am. That’s all. Two little words. I am. Any words after those two, will be put there by me and me only. That is what I will believe, that is what I will become, and that is what will dictate my actions and my feelings.

What do YOU say after “I am?” Think about it. Because that’s exactly what you are.

Impending Surprise and Me So Happy – 22 April 2003 & 15 April 2003

Friday night, I’m taking my father out, something I can’t write yet, because from time to time, I think he reads me, and I want to keep the surprise. Speaking of which, Dad, again, if you happen upon this, all this talk and poetry about sex and slaves, it’s fantasy fodder for writing. RIGHT. Your daughters are clean and good and hardly naughty at all. Well, three of them are. But that doesn’t mean the fourth is ME. We all remember the fruit-fly ratio, right? One out of four. Hee hee. So, special night out with Dad, and he’s going to shit his pants when he sees where I’m taking him. That’s a figure of speech, in case you thought my father had weak bowels or something.

Last night, I reached a point of extreme happiness. Warm inside, with the cool rain pattering on a sky light, tapping against large windows, comfortable, safe, with M.s.’s head on my leg, looking up at me and talking excitedly about the stock market. I was so overwhelmed with joy that my eyes watered. He didn’t notice, which was good, because I didn’t want to explain my predicament, I just wanted to experience it. I burned the moment into my brain, I tilted my head back against a pillow and smiled into myself, and I could feel the core of me smile back.

It’s rare that I can release everything in the world and surrender to the moment. Happy moments are so much easier to get lost in, though, and yesterday, I was so lost in the moment that Sherlock himself could not have found me.

A Ride to the Airport with Dad and Peter – 25 October 2002

This morning, before work, I took my father to the airport. I finished the last page of a novel just as he was making his way out of his room with all of that luggage. I’ve been wanting him to hear a particular song from Peter Gabriel’s new album, “Up.” The song is called, “I Grieve,” and after listening to it MANY times, I was sure Dad would love it. Before he had the car door closed behind him, I put it on and asked him to start listening (short drive to the airport, long song). The song begins softly, and as Peter’s voice filled the space in my car, a stolen glance at my father confirmed that he was already sucked in.