The Point of No Return

I read somewhere that it’s hard to feel the right emotions at the right times, and I think that’s a good observation.


I also think a fair amount of people would argue that there are no “right” emotions. And no real “right” times, either. Hey, I’ve been to therapy too!

My emotions are all over the map. We’re probably going to need to zoom out, in order to see them all. What do you think?


I doubt you’ll find the change in scenery, in scale, especially disorienting. If you’ve spent any time around here before (and I mean any time, at all), you know that I always have a lot of feelings. And you know that it does often tend to be a something of a trek, from one to the other.

But that map I mentioned — I’m beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that I might be holding it completely upside down.

I’m beginning to wish you were here. Or, more accurately: someone. I just wish someone were here, to show me which way was up. I’d just like someone to lean over, kiss my fingers loose, and give every creased piece of paper I’m holding a gentle 180-degree turn. Tilt. How about just a tilt? A tilt wouldn’t be too far.

Maybe we could just pull over, for a minute. Get our bearings. Eat a cookie. There’s something about a good old chocolate chip cookie. The way they used to make them — before browning the butter became standard. Before we were disappointed by the use of a single kind of chocolate chip.


There’s something about eating a cookie in a car. While sitting in a parking lot, on a very rainy day. Even if you are all alone. All alone — thinking the crumbs in the cracks are the least of your worries.

I’m losing my dad. It’s no longer a question of stopping to find better directions. And if I move out west, I’m afraid we’ll really have passed the point of no return.

I’m not feeling the right things. It’s not on purpose — it’s not intentional. I never consciously picked sides. I want to go and I want to stay.

West coast or east coast. Neither coast. Somewhere in the middle? Then I’ll really be lost.


The little girl in me says the west coast will have Mom. The east coast will have Dad. The west coast will have all sorts of things I haven’t tried yet. But the east coast will have maple walnut cake. My favorite!


I suppose I should listen to the other girl in there. The one who is more grown. The one who is becoming, becoming, becoming — all the time. I suppose I should listen to her the most. What does she want? What does she want most.


Somebody to sit with. Access to an airport. And maple walnut cake, every night, until this is over.


(Maybe we should just try her again later.)


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