  1pm and a french press. Got an email this morning from heather hayton about a group outing to see All The Great Books (abridged) at the Lyceum theatre in Horton Plaza this Wednesday. Thinking of inviting Mark, my buddy. Weve had some good times together, sort of an almost-date friend. Radiohead together, some fun nights on the town and hes a lot more literate than a lot of people. I couldnt see bringing someone who cant appreciate the humor. So maybe Ill go. I could use some healthy time out on the town.
That is, to distinguish it from those wild nights of hitting Montage and taking my shirt off on the dance floor. Which, by the way, sounds about perfect for tonights plans with Mark. This is so great getting to reconnect with my friends. Not that my hiatus was that long, but being with someone compromises certain aspects of my life. Last night with the happy couple was perfect  to a pool bar I once went to as a 6 year-old with Daddy in the old neighbourhood.
Yes, I still remember that. Only a block from my old preschool. I had the most vivid dream last night that I had a miscarriage. I got myself pregnant somehow, afraid to tell anyone by whom. And then I delivered at full term, and the baby wasnt breathing. Its eyes and mouth were sealed shut. Creepy. Later on, I got pregnant again (maybe it was the same situation, just too awful the way it played out the first time).
I had a son. I woke up missing him. The strongest bond with that boy, Zachary. It felt so good to be his mother, loving each other. Is this a dream of hope after delivering a dead relationship? I have to get a jump on my reading this afternoon so I can go out tonight without the cloud of missed obligations hanging over me. Adieu. 
