Welcome To My Bed

Happenings involving tree houses, girl power, high fives, and pinky swears.

1. My dad finally had his surgery--six bypasses in total--this Tuesday morning, and he is strong and recovering well. He may be walking around right now, a crazy thought after everything he's been through this past few months. I could not be more grateful that he's going to be okay (knock on wood), that I get to keep my dad around. My little sister insisted that he needed to be here to see all of us married, and I laughed in spite of the seriousness of the situation. At this point, he'll be around to see me get my writing published, which is the only milestone I am concerned about sharing with him. His stories made me a storyteller more than anything else. High five to the cardiac unit at Hackensack Hospital for keeping him safe and giving us the best reward possible for all of the risk.

2. Cass and I finally found an apartment, after a lot of run-around from too many people. The place we are signing for is the second story of a house in Amherst with a private porch (which is all we had dreamed of when picking a place for the summer after the poet house in Allston's porch was so delicious). It'll only be until the end of August, which makes me less panicky than the mumbo jumbo fifteen month deathtrap lease a realtor was trying to talk us into. I hate realtors. It will be our summer writer's retreat, a continuation of the tree house tradition from the Lady Poet House. Cass wants to see it before we name it. I am souped on summer, 100%. This morning, I had no place to live. Tonight, I drink to my first place on my own.

3. That being said, this year has been estrogen saturated in every way--I have never spent this much time around women, thinking about women's issues, making strides towards understanding what I want to be like when I grow up. The Lady Poet House has been such a help in feeling happy with myself even when I have a bad or lonely day. I have never had such stable relationships with my women friends. We have our own forms of bonding that are probably very particular to our specific cultural subset ("so Plath" as Sean would put it, and did the other night). For example, Cass and I make rare trips to the movies together to see such plucky cinema gems as Whip It!, which I wish I'd had in high school, and most recently,
The Runaways. We like to pretend we were these kinds of people in high school, the ones who magically find their way to something that makes them powerful (roller derby, rock and roll, etc.), but in truth, our coming-of-age that Hollywood might consume and then refashion into an indie film would have a lot more to do with first year at Hampshire and some slam poetry growing pains. Personally, I'm much more comfortable seeing Dakota Fanning in a corset than thinking about Ellen Page playing me in a movie version of my life.