February 1, 2011:
Weird period of calm and optimism with only some real justification, the feeling that in the end it'll all be fine when she gets older and figures out just how truly bitchin I am. Ridiculous.
Sometimes I believe in us; sometimes I don't care. Usually when I'm well-enough fed and not terribly sick I feel more willing to live with whatever it hands me.
Who decides what "us" truly means?