Thinking Back In The Here And Now

I spent the afternoon with a new friend, a journalist Professor-with-a-capital P, who is on sabbatical.  She's closing in on the specifics of her project, and talking to me about Getting Shot and Life Afterwards would, she assured me, help.

She also offered to pay for lunch.  I can be bought.

This kind of request hasn't come in a long time, and I am happy to say that it didn't have the same impact as it has in the past.  I kept waiting to get upset.  I wondered when my dreams would change.  Maybe it will happen tonight, but I'm not holding my breath.  I seem to have moved to a new stage;  I can talk about it without reliving it before and after. 

The during part is still a work in progress.

I was early.  She was there when I arrived.  I ordered a power meal, a thin tostada topped with avocado humus and kale and cabbages and pickled veggies and some kind of siracha that I'm still tasting (not in a bad way) hours later. Well fortified, I told her many of the stories.  She agreed to feed TBG and me the next time she's in town.

I drove across the parking lot to the Safeway, the scene of the crime then and the scene of my favorite memorial now.  Draped on and near the large stones and small brass stars are the tributes, like the bracelet and the flowers and the names of those who went to the movies and died six years ago this week.  I'm not the only one to whom it speaks.

I left a glittery stone in a nice crevice in the biggest rock, said Hi to Christina, and drove home, looking for something non-Trump on the radio.  I was fine. 

What I want, I cannot have; what I have is wonderful. 

The sun came up and I was here to see it.  By definition, that makes it a good day.