Good Turns and My Inner Television

Big Kid is in the hospital right now and of the hundreds of images blowing through my semi-conscious brain, the one that really popped was all of these anonymous gals writing to me on my blog. I didn't write for a long while and now some of my links aren't linkable anymore, which sucks. Anyway back to Cowbell and Suzanne and all of the other women who've pushed a good word my way, it's quite startling, really. In the face-to-face people naturally don't know what to say, which is understandable, but then other people take the time to give out something to a stranger.

I started writing on here after Baby Brother was killed and somehow people responded and it gave me something to do other than wring my hands. And I did truly wring them, turning and pulling at them as if something worthwhile would squeeze out. Once I started typing, all of this not-profound insight based on seventies television came out, and I realized that maybe I could bumble through the shit. Then lo then behold and people wrote to me, too.

Now here I am again only it's not again it's the same thing because once a man is killed, people suffer for a long time. Big Kid and Baby Brother were close more like brothers or maybe in other families people get that close to an uncle? It still hurts and today I wanted to talk to my brother so badly, to let him know how his nephew is, and to get his opinion. It's rare when someone else loves your kid the way you love your kid, or understands him in the true sense. And then some excellent icing on the case when people you've never met send good vibes through a computer to help a woman they've never met.

I'm watching season 3 of The Wire on DVD and reading Becoming Madame Mao by Anchee Min. In between I'm hopscotching through my days, trying to manage the serious shit.