The shoe spell didn't work. No, not true. Started the day with my memoir class, two hours of listening to words hot off the press, fresh from the labors of other writers. Loved it. An hour later, I'm sitting by the fountain in the Seattle Center, one of my favorite places in this known universe, and I'm crying. The spray from the fountain is hitting me in the face and glasses so I figure no one will notice. Crying intermittently all day. I listen to myself at one point and think, "I am breaking my own heart." Maybe I am crying about the heartbreaks of the past year? I keep crying. "What can you make with tears?" one of my early therapists asked. "Can you water your plants?" I begin to feel like Alice. I'm going to drown in my own salt water pond. I don't drown. Friends and family call. My sister asks me to lunch tomorrow. My other sister and brother sing Happy Birthday in Portuguese. (My family lived in Brazil when I was small.) My brother offers me job tips. A friend leaves astromelias in my room and her exquisite small painting of a mermaid. She also makes me dinner. Other friends give me chocolates, tiny peanut butter cups, the kind I like from Trader Joes. Yes, I am jobless and single. These things are true. And at least eight people called to say I love you. My friend Gregory to ask for birthday gift hints and then to give me a gift of gold. "We don't have many of you," he said.
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