Little Margarita

I want to call you every fifteen minutes just to make sure you are real.

I am 100% inside out.  I know that the end result will be great.

I have been employed outside my home for at least 40+ hours a week for as long as I can remember.  Until Em was born it was more like 60 or 70 hours.

I am working from home today.  Hiding out, putting off the conversation where I know I will get teary-eyed at minimum, in all likelihood full on ugly cry at the idea of leaving my job behind.

Lucy hasn’t slept very much today. She seems to be staring at me every time I look at her.

Weird.  I feel like I finally saw her yesterday and it seems today, on her 20th day of life she can really see me, too.

Em looked like she was 6 going on 16 this morning as she left for school.

It is not even two in the afternoon. And I’ve heard Bloodkin’s “Little Margarita” twice already today.

I’m thinking a Big Margarita might be in order tomorrow evening.

Everything you heard about me is true, my Little Margarita.

But I’m so in love with you, my Little Margarita.

I am the bastard son of Neal Cassady.

You’re splashing salt and cactus juice all over me.

You’re my Little Margarita.