My boss' wife had her a baby this morning, a baby that was taking far too long. A baby boy. Relief, says the single (meaning divorced, not unmarried) women in the office. This way, he will not try for a boy (they have a girl already). I was told days before she went into labor that it was my duty to send flowers to the hospital, to "bail me out," as my boss put it. Babies being born is always a big deal: everyone calling you (including business partners, clients, vendors) to hear the beautiful body measurements of the baby and just how worn out the mother is. Babies are in a way, it seems, the easiest way we can witness surreal elegance, simplicity, and unmarred humanity. Babies mean the world isn't ending, that tomorrow simply has to show up for the children.

Earlier this week I went to UNO campus to get confirmation on the classes I needed for certification, only to find that there were no advisors available. I never call ahead for shit like this, I thought. It's so funny being back on campus. Students always act like they own the place because, well, they do. I barely remember that I was one of them.

I feel a lot better today than I've felt in this last week. The final talk with Carson went very well and I have more peace with things now. So please stop asking if I'm ok. I am quite ok. Wilco lyrics have once again been my testament:


There's a whisper I would like to breathe into your ear but I'm too scared to get that close to you right now. There are dreams we must have shared and I still care and I still love you, but you know how I have been untrue. In the beginning we closed our eyes. Whenever we kissed we were surprised to find so much inside.

I dreamed about killing you again last night and it felt alright to me. Buried you alive in a fireworks display raining down on me. Your cold, hot blood ran away from me to the sea.

I was told about a meteor shower early Sunday morning. I think I might find a place by the Lake to see the sky catch on fire.