Dear Diary,

Oh life—there are a lot of curse words I would write next, if I could remember them all. But instead I just purse my lips into a sigh, too tired to even rail against the fatigue of so many stressful changes, all slammed together like toppings on a dropped hot pizza.

When life gives you unripe lemons, it’s easiest to turn to the ones closest to you and lob that sour fruit straight into their unsuspecting hands and say, “Make me some lemonade!”

The fact is, I’m totally whelmed.

I’m aware that there have been more complaints than compliments lately.

I’m aware that I’m tired a lot.

I’m aware that I tend to have a one-track conversation which circles the same old troubles, over and over again.

And I am trying, in my enlightened awareness, not to make this all of who I am.

This is the part where the pendulum swings the other direction, to test the patience of the person I’m dating. Because unfortunately life can’t be seven days a week of late brunches and wake up sex. (I wish!)

Lover just laughs, as I establish a five-minute limit on talking about work–and then I forget, fifteen minutes later, when my mind circles right back to the same topic. And then finally it is gone, poof, as I snuggle in close, feel his hand stroking my hair, settling into “us” and not just me.

This man, I tell you what…

Two weeks ago we went out to dinner. I was craving something sweet but I couldn’t make up my mind–so he ordered everything on the dessert menu.


A week ago insomnia hit us both very, very early on a Sunday morning. I usually just read in bed, until I feel his hands, then his lips nuzzling my shoulder… Two hours later, it was still too early to go out for coffee, but three hours after that we made it in time for brunch at Bacon and Butter off Broadway just as they opened at 8. We talked about everything and  nothing, and while we did I marveled that we have become regulars at so many places, now. It’s part of our thing, what we do together. You plus me became we.

No matter how the day weighs on me, I’m always happy when I end it with him, whether it’s a long good-night phone call or a kiss in person. Since I moved to Sacramento, the kisses in person have been much more frequent, and always sweet.

So I’m trying, Life, to get my lemons in order. Not because I have to handle everything myself, because that’s not what healthy self-care is about, either, but because I don’t want to sour a good thing by focusing on a little momentary tartness.