I gave up on writing about my mother after MY MOTHER IS CRAZY was rejected in 2010. I wrote two other books instead — a novel for adults, and a novel for tweens.

For the seventeen years I worked with Judith, I thought therapy was like school. You put in the hours to master the concepts, and then you passed the test. Once you learned something, you knew it for life; you never backslid into ignorance. You could build on your knowledge and attain new levels every year.

My mother, I maintained, was a fucked-up person, but she wasn’t psychotic. Judith never met my mother; she only knew what I said about her, and you can’t diagnose people you never met from someone else’s description.

My mother stressed it repeatedly throughout my childhood. “I never want us to turn out like me and my mother. I couldn’t stand my mother, she was nothing but a burden to me, and I never want you to feel that way about me.”

What do you do, on the day of your mother’s death, after you’ve called everyone who needs calling? Before you select a picture of her to post on social media with a quick RIP, so everybody knows what just happened to you, out of the blue, on a Saturday morning?

The paramedics refused to enter the home without hazmat suits And I refuse to let it go

Ted came back early and is picking me up to see a movie at Chris Lee's house. Even though I said I had planned a few hours of work. It was quote-unquote my decision to say yes, but he sounded so crushed by the idea of me not coming over until after the movie. And I understand that very well.

Slept alone and long.

Got a letter from Jackson last night, which was a surprise. He misses me in his life, he wants to be friends again. HA. HA HA HA HA HA. Didn’t exactly apologize though. Gratified by the letter, I win. I win.

Don't want to be writing down my thoughts, be confronted by the moment to moment weirdness of them.  Don't feel like writing down dreams.

Hung out with Spyro last night before Ted came over.  I was on herbal speed.  My new thing is I'm sick of my body and I hate it, etc., so why I don't have my gym bag with me?