Jun. 20th, 2013

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I bawled like a baby over James Gandolfini's death. What the hell is that all about? you might wonder. I wondered too.

Of course, I loved The Sopranos. Just about the perfect hybrid of capital-A Art and small-e entertainment. Put it in a time capsule so that 50 million years from now when homo sapiens is extinct, intelligent cockroaches can find it and learn the essence of those strange bipeds that by rendering the planet uninhabitable to mammals, guaranteed the order Blattaria evolutionary supremacy.

But I think the real reason I started crying is that I feel exhausted.

There is just such a shitload of stuff to do.

And I am unsure of my ability to do it all.

Of course, time is a conveyor belt. Sooner or later, you reach that spot where it was all supposed to have been done – and if it's not done, well – adjustments will be made.

That's the default fallback in every situation. It's not a particularly comforting thought, though.

Spent much of yesterday texting with RTT, which was a treat. It was a real conversation like we used to have before all the unpleasantness of that final year in Ithaca. He starts work on the 25th, which makes it unlikely that he will be able to come down while Max is here. I was so looking forward to having both my guys in the same time/space continuum so that news was a major disappointment. But I think my relationship with RTT is on the upswing. He's never going to be one for weekly phone calls the way Max is, but at least when we're in touch, we'll be able to communicate. I'm going to try to be a more proactive Mom this summer, send him weekly care packages at camp – movies, fudge, that kind of stuff.

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