More on the story of unemployment, my house is getting steadily cleaner and more organized, I�ve been spending time with wonderful friends, and writing and reading like crazy. Yesterday, had another lovely lunch with Halcyon, then had a friend stop over for a bit, and in the evening I headed to the soccer game. Sat in the bleachers with Jane as we watched our youngest sister, Jen, play soccer on the same team as Jane & Heather�s husbands. After that, Jen and I went to Heather�s and watched a movie, had dinner with her and Sean. Nice.

Lots going on, people. Interesting family dynamics slowly floating to the surface as we prepare ourselves for the trip back home. Mostly involving my mother and a few others like her, who have that magically annoying ability to take any situation and make it about them. And given the circumstances of this particular situation, attending the funeral of a young hero and beloved family member, I find her attitude obscene. And the most obscene thing about it, is there�s no way she�ll ever see it that way.

Maybe some day I�ll go into details. But for any of you who grew up in a Jewish or Catholic home with a Brooklynite for a mother, you know what I�m talking about. It�s a syndrome, and I don�t think there are any cures. We just learn to deal with it in our own ways. I�ve never been to a funeral before.

I just got off the phone with my father. Last night, he delivered a motorized little motorcycle for 3-year-old Tony, a child who will not live past Thanksgiving if he does not receive a liver transplant within that time. How many little livers do you think are available? So my father brought the bike, with personalized little California license plates that said �Tony� on them. He spoke with the parents as little Tony rammed the bike into the couch and the TV (don�t worry, it only goes about 2 miles per hour). This is a family of illegal aliens, and the father of 2 spends his days giving feed to cattle. A few months ago, his niece was found dead in the desert in Arizona, trying to make it into the states.

And the lot of them watched with love and care as Tony made revving noises and rode his bike. They headed to Chuck E Cheese�s, and after some food, my father left them to each other. We all have strife. We all suffer. We all have joy, and we must embrace those moments with the exuberance we have when we embrace our loved ones. Moments come and go. I�m in one now, can you tell? Can you tell where my head is at? What I�m feeling? There are so many words. Whatever you say, you�re right. We are always feeling everything � it is the feeling we choose to focus on that is illuminated to those around us. And right now, I haven�t chosen to focus on any one of them. Hence my random, cursory and ambiguous writing today.

I love. I want to love well. I hurt. I want to feel it until the tears have warmed my entire face, until my lips are swollen from being stretched in that pained, raw grimace of emotion. And then, I want to laugh until I�m crying again, until my stomach aches and I�m gasping to breath. I don�t want to be numb ever again.

-Barbarella

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