I talked with my mumma earlier tonight and told her how tired I still am after my marathon party times and driving and immediately to work work working and she said something about how being down there in Florida must have disrupted my innards. I said, no no, Florida was deliriously lovely and rejuvenating and I felt clean and whole after my week there. She was so so happy and it occurred to me that I never ever tell my mumma that she and my pops and their home have this effect on me. I felt good and strong down there. Happy. Happy-go-lucky, even. She said, you seemed happier than I've ever seen you. That may be true.

Which is why I'm writing now. I wanted to mark that. Mark this time, these days, when I am, quite simply, happy. Nothing has changed--I'm still in debt way past my eyeballs and I still don't have as many of my darling friends living near me as I'd like and I'm still in search of my you and my house is still a wreck, etc. etc. etc. But I am happy. It's all right, you know? I'm on the up escalator, as Frances and Jeff taught me to think.

In other familial news: My mom and pops have now been officially married for 30 years. January 2nd was their anniversary. They, too, are happier than they have ever been. Good-o.

I don't think I mentioned all the excellent talks me and my dad had while I was down there (of course I didn't. I'm still processing, slowly, like a leaf unfurling, all the events of the last two weeks) It's funny. When I was a terrible and depressed (my GOD was I depressed) teenager, my dad and I did not get along. We fought over everything from religion to school to parenting to my dirty room. But now, man. We get along like two peas in a pod. My dad is awesome. My dad teaches me about how engines work because, he says, I'm a girl. I need to know these things more than my brothers. Plus, he says, I have the aptitude, they don't. My dad is also the second earliest riser in the house, after me. So every morning, after my rambling shambling walk with the dogs, we'd drink coffee and talk about books and the family and music and teaching. It was great. Then my mom would slowly wake up and join in the conversation. Then Joe. Then Shawn would lumber like Frankenstein's monster out of his bed and Bash would go into ecstasies because he LOVES Shawn and thus the day would begin. Dan would rise around 10, Oliver around 11 and we'd sit around, making things, talking and man oh man, I adore my family. (Have you noticed?)

My mom told me tonight, too, that Oliver, after I left, he said: "she didn't even finish my journal" (I made each of my brothers a journal for Christmas) and my mom pointed out that yes I did. And apparently that really touched his black black heart. He said he'd hidden the journal so that I'd have to ask him for it in order to finish it. My mom thought that was cute. I think it's nuts. I also think he didn't "hide" it very well, because I don't remember looking for it. Anyway. That seemed to be all the opening he wanted because he told my mom he'd write me an email of apology. He's crazy. The end.

So Dan is moving back home next week and Joe is moving out for the first time ever. Exciting times. Dan's old girlfriend, the much loved Melissa, is living with her parents in Orlando and Dan and Melissa were rather tight when he was home. My mom is praying to all the gods that they are back together. She adores Melissa. I think she's pretty damned cool too.

Shawn tells me that they're all going to the Keys for his upcoming birthday. He loves it down there. That's all he wants in life--to live on a boat in the Keys and catch crab and swim with the dolphins. He's the most incredibly cool and awesome and fun almost-14-year-old boy I ever in all my life had the pleasure of meeting.

To sum up: this entry is to say I love my family, I love my life, and all is right with the world. Good night and godspeed, daybreak.