Kind of not thinking today, due to unexpected hormonal wig-out!! — but here are a few things to chew on all the same.
1. This morning Jackson began calling G.I. Joes “G.I. Jews,” but I felt, sort of regretfully, obliged to set him straight.
2. I’ve spent every spare minute of the last two days trying to fit three years of badly stored photo negatives into archival negative sleeves. And in the process discovering, well, this stuff.
August 1995, DRUNK OFF MY ASS and wearing my Zubin Mehta t-shirt. The summer I met Jack. This at his mom’s house, while his step-dad was dying of cancer.
October 2000, HOO-BOY, THE SECOND HONEYMOON IN ZIHUATENEJO. Can you tell that I didn’t know I was pregnant here, but spent the entire week weeping and going to bed early? You have to click on it to really feel the icy chill of my “Don’t Touch Me” force field.
WARNING: BABY PHOTOS
July 2001, This picture always makes me think of Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects.