In a little bit I have to cram my body into tights—aptly named—and go to ballet. I would rather lie on the couch and flake out watching election results. But I am always glad I have gone AFTER ballet class.

I am always so cold lately—positively chilled. I don’t know why. The doctor did not have great insight today. She put me on a different dosage pill, and said she thought it was just my body adjusting. She did, however, take more blood to check my thyroid just in case that caused it. She doesn’t think that is my problem, but why not check? She also told me I had lost a grand total of one pound since my last weigh in a couple weeks ago. I went shopping and bought vegetables. One pound. Bah humbug.

I enjoyed teaching today more than any day all year. That is because we mostly talked about the election—you know NEWS. JOURNALISM. Argh! I can’t get it out of me. English is fun, and I am a natural writer, but my love is journalism, plain and simple. I am going to have to do something about that.

It feels like the middle of winter. I should have told her how chilled I always am. My kids always want me to turn the air on and it takes half the day before I warm up enough to need it. My blood pressure dropped too. It is not too low, but it is down to 100/60. No wonder I am lightheaded.

Or maybe that is just me.

I did something about one of the issues in my life. I tried to at least. How this works itself out will probably help determine a lot of my future in LA, for as long as that is. It makes me nervous, though; I really didn’t want to, but I knew I had to.

I wrote a new poem. I was trying to capture the essence of the morning drives and the struggle to drive to work without crying. Freeway Tears. Cindy sure did help me feel better about that—and I even got to work without tears today. But here is the poem anyway.

Driving through dreams I thought
You gave me, I see rubble
Again, While the buildings stand tall
I remember the person I lived to
Forget, Shudder on freeways
Wall to wall with pain.
I wonder how I will
Find You among millions,
How resurrection will
Come in the desert
Every morning the
Freeway tears bring me one step
Closer to a dead dream and I pray:
Lord, remember the desert flower?
Wilting, I cry out to live again in spring.