be careful when asking a mexican to choose a documentary.

all i wanted was a good documentary to watch while i gave her a shoulder rub. she chooses one called "dear zachary" from her netflix watch instantly queue. the filmmaker is a dear friend of a murdered man who drives across the country recording memories of his friend for his son, who's a baby. the friend's baby was birthed by the friends killer - psycho girlfriend. so, the friend's parents try to get custody of the kid. psycho gets out on bail and kills both herself and this baby. this one final tie to their son, she takes from them.

i cried. a lot. like flood gates, hot damn, haven't cried this much at a movie since watching "i am sam" in the theater. m. sleeps on the couch almost the entire time. and now i'm awake because every time i close my eyes, i see scenes from this movie. it's crazy how much it effected me. i've never been a mother. never a grandmother. never lost a child or a grandchild or anyone close to me. it's one of my greatest fears.

m. is now in bed. i untangled myself from her and now i'm on the couch with the black dog who has no idea what i'm doing up this late. the coffee at 4 probably wasn't smart either. it's amazing how life can change. two people met on a double date in the 1960's and this entire story unfolded. if one sperm hadn't met one egg, none of this would have happened.

sometimes i understand my mother's agoraphobia. life seems like such a random chain of events, i even understand the want to believe in god or something more powerful with a master plan. i'd like to understand it anyway.

guilt.

buckley has started to pee on the tomato plants.

i think it's funny and hope the neighbors wash them before making salad.

i should feel a little bad, yes?

i wanna be like the dog park ladies.

so i finally took the boy to the dog park tonight after a week off. hey, it was cold and wet and he has a neighbor dog to play with. anyway, when we arrived there was an older woman there with her two dogs. she was probably about 65. i offered her my ball thrower as she was chucking an incredibly slimy, raggedy, tennis ball with her hand. she declined with a huge smile and said she liked it better that way. about a half hour into our play date, her friend drove up. she yelled to her pups "hey! judy and sweetie are here! judy and sweetie are here! go say hi! go say hi!" when judy and sweetie got out of the car, there was a reunion of sorts involving high pitched voices and loads of tail wagging. we said our goodbyes and headed to the car as the woman, her friend judy, and their dogs began their walk and gossip through the park.

when i'm 65, i want a friend to meet at the dog park. i want to laugh and throw balls to my dogs with my hands, not caring about the germs.

carbs.

lately, all i've wanted are croissants. croissants, and rolls, and bagels, and biscuits, and soft fresh bread. a couple times in the last two weeks i've actually left my house in the cold evening, gone to the market, and come home with the objects of my cravings. strangely, the scale says i've stayed the same since before my trip to carolina. i think the scale is broken, but m. insists on its accuracy.

when i was a child, my weight gain all stemmed from carbs - mainly pasta. as a lonely kid, i would get up on a saturday morning, make an entire box of pasta, sit in front of the television and between 10 and 1, devour the whole colander full of al dente goodness. it was something i could control - what i put in my mouth. i rolled into my 19th year at 239.5 lbs. after many, many, years of fat camp and weight watchers, i've managed to keep myself between 165 and 169 for the last 12 months.

i feel that familiar tug at my sleeve - that beckoning of the familiar. i have two croissants and 1.5 bagels on my kitchen counter. there's a safety having them near by.

7% battery left.

i have yet another tension headache. ugh. other things i currently have include but are not limited to: a black dog who needs a bath, a sickly mexican, a grand plan, some won ton soup in the fridge, a cell phone on my belly, people i miss, some more weight to lose, a love of fall, a craving for cinnamon rolls, a book i've yet to start, a new winter hat, an obsession with the internets, and a nice clean sink, void of last night's dishes. not bad.

inaugural spin.

this is all in an effort to write more and post on facebook less. we were at a wedding in north carolina last week and i had three people come up to me, who mind you i don't keep in touch with, and ask me if "mexi" was there with me. sign number 159 that i spend too much time on facebook. something about instant, mass communication with people i know, used to know, or care about, comforts me. strange, right? i'm hoping that blogging will be a vehicle for those who want to know more about my life to catch up with me in a more in depth forum. readers of the blog will be by invitation only. the link will not be posted on facebook.

my main hope however is that i start writing again. really writing. meghan reminded me the other night that she doesn't know me as a writer. how odd. i was known as the poet of my high school. i filled up quite a few journals in college. honestly, pen and paper was never far from my side until i discovered facebook. i'm not totally leaving this online community of "friends"...only taking a step back. i'm intentionally working to rediscover my narrative side and stop thinking in third person, one sentence, updates. we shall see, we shall see.