2015-09-23 - 9:42 p.m.

A visit east reminds me that there are people out in the world, people who know me and believe in me. Reporting on the last decade of my life, to Eric and Carolyn and Laura and Andy, trying to describe this strange little life I’ve plunged myself into. What are the pieces worth telling: describing the sorts of conflicts that ended my marriage? Painting pictures of Paloma and me, cutting vegetables at the breakfast bar or chilling at the pool? Describing our little evening strolls, taking the girl and the dog out to the playground so they both can roam free for awhile?

Perhaps that’s what I needed too—a couple of days to roam free. Not too free, but free of the confines of my life, always pushing myself to work more hours. Never managing to enjoy my time very much.

We’re all feeling the pressure of life, of providing a life for those whom we have produced. My friends and I, once carefree in Chicago, loafing on Goodwill couches in beat-up apartments, now worrying about oversized mortgages and college bills, and wishing they had more time for real life. The organizing principle for my life is to figure out how to pay the bill. I’m paying for myself and my daughter. And to pay for my marriage too. The bill, for years of letting things happen to me rather than creating the life I needed, is coming due. You can only live on credit cards for so long.

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