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There’s been a shift in the game plan, and like any good plot twist, it comes with both relief and a little chaos. Mom is taking over transportation for the book festival. That alone should calm the storm, but my brain doesn’t quite work like a quiet lake. It’s more like a popcorn machine at a carnival… always popping, always buzzing, always tossing out worst-case scenarios like confetti I never asked for. I’ve been having nightmares about the logistics. Not monsters, not falling… but missing passes, wrong turns, forgotten boxes, and somehow ending up in the wrong place at the...

Today had that “check engine” light kind of energy. Not a breakdown… but definitely a moment where you pull over, pop the hood, and take a serious look at what’s going on inside. I went to the clinic to follow up on the emergency room visit from the weekend. Chest pains will get your attention real fast, like a drum solo from your own ribcage. The good news? No serious heart problems. The better news? The doctor looked at me like a man still in the fight. He congratulated me for quitting smoking, even after I admitted I had one...

There’s a peculiar kind of planning that happens when life starts shifting under your feet. Not the dramatic movie kind with violins and slow-motion exits, but the quieter version… the kind where you look at your cat and think, what if I can’t bring you with me? That possibility has been sitting in the corner of the room like an uninvited guest. Not loud, not demanding attention… just there. And if that’s the way things go, Whiskey Kitty will stay with mom. Which means something very important has to happen first. Mom needs training. Now, most people think cats come...

Today didn’t feel like a day. It felt like a hinge. One of those moments where life doesn’t politely knock, it just swings the door open and says, “Alright, let’s see what you’re made of.” I went to court this morning, expecting one outcome, rehearsing it in my head like a bad monologue. Instead, the script flipped. I was signed into a mental health diversion program. No plea. No immediate hammer coming down. Just… conditions. Structure. Supervision. And a ticking clock. May 28. That’s the next checkpoint. Between now and then, I’ve got assignments from the universe: move out of...

The LA Times Festival of Books is less than two weeks away, and the clock isn’t ticking… it’s doing jumping jacks. I can feel it now. That quiet pressure that builds before an event, like standing backstage before the curtain rises. You’ve done this before. You know the rhythm. And yet, every time, it feels like preparing for a small expedition into the unknown—armed with books, artwork, and just enough confidence to hold it all together with a smile and a sales pitch. The good news? I’ve got a strong foundation laid out already. Pass—well, almost.Transportation—handled.Hotel—locked in.Booth—paid for.Books—printed, boxed, and...