I’ve been writing in my pen and paper journal more often. I’d love to tell you it’s every day, but we both know that won’t happen. Today is my 42nd birthday. My initial wake up was from my son who climbed in to bed to say happy birthday. Then I had a nice snuggle. Then he began to complain loudly about not wanting to go to school and I said “don’t make me yell on my birthday.”

And we both know I wound up yelling on my birthday.

I fell back asleep due to a.) more vodka than I thought last night and b.) indulging my birthday self with a sleep-in. I wound up falling back asleep and dreaming about working at a restaurant on the ocean during a storm feared to result in a world-ending storm. (Clearly I’ve been listening to a lot of Ms. Thunberg.)

The ocean was turning into ice and the stilts holding the building over the water were beginning to creak. I had to find my son who was staying with a friend far away from where I was. At one point my friend fell into the water but we (myself and other faceless people) were able to get her out. At that point I decided to GTFOOT.

I convinced someone to let me use their car so I could be with my son. There was a good chance that the car wouldn’t make it through the ice, but it was a risk I needed to take. I remember feeling calm and relieved when I got into the car knowing that I finally had at least a chance to be with him.

I know reading about other peoples dreams is impossibly boring. What does this mean? What is the storm? Is it my lifestyle? The parts that I feel are becoming unmanageable? Does this mean I am ready to ask for help to at least try to navigate out of this shit? So I can be there for my son?

Maybe.

I’m going to have some eggplant parmigiana and cappellini tonight. Then my favorite cupcakes. I bought them not realizing they were vegan and fell in love. Then I’m going to paint and finish my book. In my sweatpants. Oh man I can’t wait.