And Going back to Cali...

...well...not me. Him. Sigh. I wish there was so much more that I could do to help. I do absolutely adore how much stock and weight he puts on his opinion. First he was going to go down. Then he wasn't. Then he asked me if he should go. I was half asleep while we were watching The Right Stuff (absolutely most amazing space movie of all times--how in the WORLD did I miss that one Madame Wannabe Astronaught Gal?!) but when I woke up I told him yes. He should definitely go. At this point, I honestly think it is worth the time spent.

He's a fixer. He likes to fix stuff. I tell him I'm anemic and he's ready to give me a transfusion. Probably in his living room. Probably not a good idea. I tell him I can't decide which camera I want to buy and he buys me one that is super fantastic AND offers to let me use his scary set up (scary cause neither of us are pros and I don't think I've spent as much on camera equipment in my whole LIFE as is currently on that get out...I'm scared to touch the thing and he's all about "it's only money...long as you don't hang yourself by the strap, nothing bad can come of your use of it.") I digress.

My BF Mr. Fix It is stressing the trip down to see the parents because he cannot fix it. The God Can is never broken and all. Anyhow. I told him he needs to go down. Often. As much as he can. Because really it is about time and letting go. Not about fixing it and being right. If there is ANYTHING in this world I wish I could take back and do over again, it is the last four months of my grandmother's life. Another post, another time.

So. He's going back to Cali. If only I could get inspired to take a picture. Or inspired to go out with someone. One of our friend's is depressed over companionship issues. Time to really be a friend and help her out. Time to adjust my attitude--yesterday I learned that a phenomenal young lady I used to work with died. Her brain busted (cause I don't know how to spell that "A" word that denotes, essentially, the same thing). Out of nowhere. She wasn't even 21 I don't think. I cried. Cried hard for all the people who never got to know her. Cried harder and more selfishly over the fact that I was really crying because I'm so very out of it that I'm stressing the little things instead of living the bigger life.

I'm rambling. I'll stop. I promise.