It's been ages since I have last posted. It's not without anything to say. Many things have been happening. It is Atticus' birthday today, January 28. A year he was been here. Has it already been a year? Has that passed? What a strange thing. Yesterday after picking up Atticus I headed to work because I had to kill time until Gabrielle finished with volleyball practice. Getting there I gently extricated him from his car seat. Walking to the building he was so tired, exhausted that I could feel the weight of him on me, his hands and legs dangling down. I thought, I love this. I love that I am carrying you. Right now at this exact moment in time my whole responsibility is to carry you to the door, carry you upstairs. My whole responsibility, my whole purpose is for you. And then suddenly it made sense, after so many years, after a lifetime it finally made sense. This is what it means. Good or bad, when you have the responsibility of another human being this is what it means. I have lived this life, not to sound so dramatic or general, so irresponsibly that remembering his birth I was so happy that day. I was so happy to get two hours of sleep at a time in the hospital and wake up. I realized that at that moment I had purpose. And then two seconds later I realized two more things: that I could use that purpose as a crutch to forgo my own path (if that makes sense) and that one day I would not be here, that I would die. That by far struck me the most, like I suddenly realized that yes, I am mortal. Not that I ever thought I was immortal but rather I always had this sense of specialness, everyone does. It is this delicate barrier, yet surprisingly solid and tough, that can get shattered when you are, let's say, mugged, or when you realize you are going to die. You realize suddenly that oh my god I am a human being. I looked at my newborn son that day and felt that. I was sitting in my car a weeks ago looking at film of my PET Scan feeling the same thing. Except this time I was scared. And I started to cry. Not yet, I kept thinking, not yet. And then, pushing its way into my mouth, I haven't even done anything yet. And then I thought of my laziness, my inaction. I thought of that moment when he was born. And then I thought of Gabrielle. I never had that moment with you and yet I love you and am so very paternal. I came into your life and never had that moment, I just showed up one day and here we are. I have seen you grow. And now I realize. I love this. I love that I am carrying you.

And the tests are ok so far. It's early. And Gabrielle started volleyball and is more excited about it than I have ever seen her excited about anything. Purpose. And it was my and Irene's anniversary yesterday (the day we had our first date not that day we got married) and today Atticus was born. And I picked up a tire from the alley wanting to paint it and Gabrielle made fun of me. And my aunt was diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer and is full of life and sarcastic through and through. And we move. Just move.

And it goes and goes. Tears, sweat, again, shifting the world so much I can feel it in my bones, the kitchen is a mess, the house feels the effects. Super 8 movie reels of childhood in our heads. Screen printed. Hand painted. Washed. Sewn canvas. The Art of Losing isn't hard to master Write It! Blood test. Missing money. Missed days. Iron injections. Steroids. Pot brownies. Eating a burger instead. Gradeschool heartbreak and this too shall pass. Riding of the back of a motorcycle and finally holding on.

better late than never.