where's the f*cking portal?

 

September 12 • 2025

For the record, I'm coming off a minute of frothing over posts on Instagram about the murder of a racist purveyor of hate who is now the latest martyr for the cult. While doing laundry and emailing students, I'm intermittently scrolling and posting poems about guns in America and how maybe children should be honored for laying down their lives to protect the 2nd amendment. Emails about marches and protests and pleas for donations to fight fascism keep rolling in and then I remember I forgot to put fresh water in the dog's dish. Which is outside because that's the only place she'll drink water. I get it. 

Follow your weird, Daisy the dog.

I'm wondering where the f*ck is the portal which was all the rage this past Tuesday, September 9, which just happened to be my birthday. It was a 999 day with 2025 adding up to the final 9. Numerology is a thing in my family. It's how we deal with aging. I turned four this birthday which feels about right. I spent hours in the sandbox, spaced out, making roads for our collection of matchbox cars and giving zero thought to my thighs. It's feeling like a portal. 

 My four-year old sandbox self. 

Maybe the portal was me and Daisy walking on Topanga Boulevard this morning. Waiting for the light, I saw a West Hills Towing truck across the street. The driver was gazing at me. Yes, it was a gaze. In this tiny pocket of time, we had a gaze-fest, which prompted us to smile at each other which prompted him to open his window which prompted me to shout, "Have a great day," as the light turned green. He gave me a peace sign and drove away. 

Portal-like, right?

Bring on the portals. They're everywhere.

A doorway, a gate? A way in, way out? 

An entrance to more gazing and waving, more peace signs. 

 love, b xo

Note: Could be a portal in my back pocket where the very cool blue photo at the top of this page was taken. 🌀