I’m in a mood---which means I’m blogging about 90 miles an hour in my head and not accomplishing anything.

Things I am thinking about:

I’m the average age that a female elephant dies in captivity. I heard that on NPR yesterday and it is bothering me a great deal. Do I relate to the elephant? Am I not satisfied? It is the same age an elephant dies in the wild. Does that seem right to you? If I’m going to live in a treeless euphoria shouldn’t I get a few more years?

The next time I turned on my car yesterday, NPR was talking about Nixon and ladders. Nixon was a ladder climber and once he got to the top of the ladder, it frightened him so much he knocked himself off because what he truly enjoyed was the climbing—not the actual going anywhere. The basic theory that no one was out to get him, he screwed himself out of the presidency on purpose.

It was all very poetic—about how most of us cannot handle being truly who we are so we think up some way to mess up the whole thing so we can comfortably go about our business with less.

God NPR is depressing.

Any way I would kick myself in the balls if I had any, for not seeming to care anymore if I am GREAT writer. To be truthfully honest, I just want the girls to grow up happy, I want to love E well and I if I figured out how to do all that without fucking it up, falling off a ladder or dying an elephant’s death---I will feel pretty damn successful.