Bumping Along

Kahlua, you bitch. You’re killing me. After spending any amount of time with you, I come away from the experience feeling like I’ve done the splits on a three-foot wide fence sheathed in broken glass.

Saw Kahlua Friday afternoon, and we did our posting thing – “trot, trot, up-down, up-down, knees in, heels down.” Everything hurts. The only positive thing in this, besides that it’s actually kind of fun while I’d doing it, is that my missing butt is slowly starting to reappear and take shape. It’s just proving to be a very painful process.


I wandered over to Lily’s the other night.

Every time I walk into her place she tries to feed me. I’m starting to suspect that she may, in fact, see me as just another neighborhood stray…

While she was making nachos, I read to us from a book she’d gotten as a gift: In Me Own Words: The Autobiography of Bigfoot. Silly, funny stuff and a very quick read. Check it out if you come across it.

Later, we sat out in her courtyard talking, and she asked how the writing was coming. I told her about the progress I was making with writing about lattes. She laughed, and then she asked, “Well, who are you writing to?”

“I don’t know. No one, anymore. I think that’s the problem,” I said, and wouldn’t look at her, though I felt her eyes on me.

She didn’t say anything for a minute, and then she said, “I write to Pete McInerny.”

“Who?” I asked, turning my head to look at her.

“Just someone I used to know. I write to him.”


“You know,” she went on, “An acquaintance sent me an email the other day. It was an invitation to his retirement. In it he said that though he knew that many of the people he was sending the email to wouldn’t be able to make it, he was writing to let them know that he was grateful to them for having helped to shape the person that he had become.”

“That’s really nice,” I told her.

“Yeah, it is. And if you think about it, that’s what we’re all doing. Just shaping each other as we bump along through life.”

We connect. We disconnect. And, sometimes without our even being aware of it, we change each other. Our interactions with others, good and bad, and how we react to them make us who we are. Sometimes, that change can prove to be a painful process, though, and there are some people I used to think I could have done without meeting, I don’t believe that anymore. I’m different for having known them, and mostly, I’d say that was a good thing. I’m glad I’ve known them.

Well, everyone except for Kahlua.

I’m so wishing I’d never met that bitch right now…

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