One convertible/strapless bra, one push-up bra, and one t-shirt bra.

Two waist-cincher corsets.

Silk blouse, silk and lace halter top, and matching long silk skirt - all black.

Four-cup drip machine and a full pound of Sumatran beans, ground.

Three pairs of black pants, four black t-shirts.

One hot pink t-shirt, Marie Curie design.

Two pairs of boots (dress lace and industrial).

Special contact lenses - black and wild animal blue.

One bottle of scotch, one bourbon, and one spiced rum.

Two punk style belts, one with handcuffs.

Double fangs, freshly-brushed.

One long black dress, 1930s draping.

Black leggings, black keyhole shirt

Panic soon.

A friend’s mother was killed in a car accident this afternoon.

Another friend is dealing with his mother’s terminal cancer and her inability - or unwillingness - to deal with it head on.

Two other friends attended their respective mother’s funerals in the past few months.

Each time I hear such news, I am reminded of my own mother’s passing, and how words, regardless of their beauty, have no power to help with the sorrow.

Words can’t heal a broken heart.

Words can’t take the pain away.

Words can’t bring a mother back.

But words are all I have.

And typing keeps the tears at bay.

Mostly.

There are many difficulties with getting back into the groove of daily life after a long time away.

First, there’s the sudden change in food intake. It normally takes my body about three days to re-acclimate to our low-carb routine; this is day two and to say I’m a bit cranky is a nice way of putting it. I’m hungry. Ravenous. All the time. And safe in the knowledge it will pass by Friday.

Second, reverting back to a lower-alcohol lifestyle, particularly giving up beer, because when we’re in Europe - where good Belgian brews are cheap and plentiful - we don’t go a day without testing or trying at least a few new flavors. The beers we loved over there are much too expensive to buy here, so that helps.

Third, the weird “re-learning to drive” thing. It’s not hard, per se, it’s just a little strange to get behind the wheel again after weeks of walking and public transit. It passes after the first few minutes, but it’s still a little disconcerting.

Fourth is forcing myself back to the gym. Sure, I worked out four days in the fitness rooms at various hotels, we each lugged 70 pounds worth of bags every time we changed location, and our multi-hour walks in three different cities kept me from gaining any weight, yet getting my happy ass off the computer, changing clothes, driving to the gym, and actually working out seems like SUCH a chore. This too shall pass, as they say.

Yet by far the hardest thing to get over? That life is what it is. That there is no magical change in travel or in absence; one simply picks up where one left off. If you were content when you left, you’ll be so when you return; if not … if not, at least there are the myriad distractions of unpacking, cleaning, working, errands, favors, and planning / packing for the next trip.

I’ll procrastinate tomorrow.

But then I shortened it:

I don’t hate all kids, but I do hate kids on airplanes.

More parenting, less sleeping.

I just deleted a comment on a previous post which amounted to an advertisement for someone’s books / pet projects. It also had nothing to do with (or anything to add to) the original post.

Though I think it may have been posted automatically by one of those spider-bot programs - they search for keywords in people’s blogs and then auto-post a canned message when they find a hit - the way it was written sounded like a personal message.

Either way, I don’t appreciate it. I don’t particularly mind promoting people’s work, but I do require that said promotion be more than keyword-related to the topic.

Reading is fundamental.

Do you build air conditioning systems for a living? I ask because you argued with us about how the one on the tour bus worked.

Our company builds them. My love would have explained it to you over a beer – he’d probably even have bought the round – but it was much more gratifying, it turned out, to let you jump to your invalid conclusion.

Did you feel any hot air blowing down on you during the ride? That is what you yelled about, that hot air would come out of the vent above your head. Well, it did actually, but it was because you opened the smaller vent on it. If you had not, the nice, cool air flow the rest of us enjoyed would have been yours as well.

On the bright side, your solution only created a problem for you and those in your immediate vicinity. See, the rest of us had the airflow from the main vents, but where you were sitting? No recirculation. That’s why we didn’t complain further. Trust me, if it had affected us in the slightest, we would have put up more of a fight.

I found it personally interesting that you were only too happy to discuss your health issues – loudly – with the doctor you just met on the tour, but you assumed my love and I were idiots. Well, our idiocy makes us a nice living. Nice enough to travel to places like Prague and take tour buses out to the countryside for a day.

Yours just made the ride back really uncomfortable for a few people, including yourself and the good doctor.

Congratulations, you won.

Weirdest.

Dream.

EVER.

He was really into it, too.

Flying above the weather and clouds below, I am once again reminded of what a singularly wonderful life I lead.

For now.

I want to truly enjoy this most perfect of moments, but I am held back by the knowledge - some would say the baggage - of knowing that life isn’t always this spectacular.

The mighty are laid waste. The prideful plunge. The pedestal crumbles.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

And while I’m no longer genuinely waiting for everything to fall apart, there is still the thought that my life may not always be like this.

It wasn’t before and it can be gone in a [choose your cliché: snap / whimper / heartbeat / bang].

So even if the other shoe never drops, I still find myself, in the inner recesses of my mind, waiting for it to land with an echoing thump.

This must be what they call “humbled.”

It is also why my burner friends, with their boundless optimism and perky nature, find me so irritating sometimes.

And vice-versa.

Not checking e-mail.

Not writing posts.

Not reading.

Not spending time on Facebook.

Not watching TV.

Driving, bonding, walking, eating, shopping, drinking, talking, laughing, complaining, acting, dancing, introducing, meeting, partying, shaving, tattooing, clubbing, giving advice and taking it.

Also, rampant geekery and totally dorking out.

Tomorrow: Beauty, errands, writing, King Tut, unpacking, repacking, and wine.

In vino veritas.

You know what’s cool?

Someone half your age asking you how you do it.

“Do what?”

“We’ve been at it all day and you still have energy to go out.”

Yes. Yes, I do.

So get dressed, girlie, or I’m going without ya.