- 3 consecutive odd numbers make up the date only 6 times per century. The first was 1/3/05. This mathematical date would really wow me if it occured maybe 5 times per century, or 11, but 6? 6 is even and sloppy. 6 makes me sad, or maybe it's just that the Starbucks that I am blogging from has been playing Bob Dylan on repeat when everyone knows that Bob Dylan is better suited for Square Root Day. (Coming soon to an April 4th 2016 near you!)
- In a move that would seemingly have me hanging up my sex appeal, I have purchased a one-piece bathing suit. (In an effort to retain a modicum of vavavoom, I believe I am supposed to refer to said bathing suit as a maillot.) It used to be that I was all bikini all the time. No matter if my gut pooched over the top or love handles kissed the sides--I was still sexy! And young! And, oh shit! I forgot to shave!But you know what? I give up. Again, blame it on Bob Dylan, but I'm 36. A mom. Make that a 36 year old mom who loves baked goods. From here on out it's just a slippery slope to a bathing suit with a flouncy floral skirt that one would not dare call a maillot, one crepey breast dripping out the side and nobody notices because nobody's looking. Bryan's going to be so stoked. Fucking Bob Dylan.
- Odder still is that this third and last bullet point is not odd at all. My step-father is in the hospital. Allen. Long story short or short story long, two steps forward and one step back. He's dying, (we're all dying), but his death is more imminent, unless of course I get in the car this afternoon and get t-boned by a bus. It could happen, everything is possible. As I am writing this a coffee machine is incessantly beeping and the baristas are laughing. The other night my mom called to tell me Allen was in the ER about to undergo surgery and she was crying hysterically. My mother does not cry. For as long as I can remember I have been making wishes through the Rainbow Tunnel right before the bridge. I wish for a pony, this job. I wish for him to like me, to love me, for everything to be alright, for today to be fun. But as I drove to get my mother I held my breath in the tunnel and did not know what to wish for.
The surgery went fine, but there will be another. Tomorrow, actually. And if that goes well? Undoubtedly another after that. This is not going to end, or it will, and I realize that what I need to wish for is not a pony or a good day, but that we all have the courage, grace and strength to be kind to ourselves and to each other as if there were a pot of gold at the other end. Because maybe there is. (Bob Dylan is no longer on; now Ray Charles is singing.)