I’m doing something I never do.
The sun cuts through half-open blinds, and the not-yet setting light rays hits my seedlings,(or whatever you call plants that aren’t just sprouted , but too.. wobbly to really be plants) and my bike,out on the patio. The torn-off fronts of craft coffee bags are tossed around me, and I’m trying to think of how to decoupage them onto the coffee table I’ve been covering for over a year. It’s nearly finished. Mr. Robot is on; I Remember hearing Pop Culture happy hour talk about it while I worked out at my old Gym in San Jose. I think that means this show came out in 2015? It’s good so far.
I never watch anything new alone, because it almost feels meaningless to do so, somehow. I’d rather re-watch, but then I end up with pop-culture FOMO. I don’t sit on our couch at 7 pm and drink coffee and watch TV shows I haven’t watched before ,alone, as the light streams in through hanging blinds. I don’t do crafts instead of running errands, reading, or going to the gym, or any number of other things that keep my body and brain moving. I’m trying to slow down and be present.
I don’t think there’s even going to be enough time, somehow. I look at my husband and the sun and all the other brightest things I know, and think that. I tell My husband this sometimes, Never enough. It’s possible he thinks I’m being morbid, but I hope he knows it’s just how deep down the love goes, how much deeper I go. Never enough time.
Maybe I’ll spend more time gluing hipster coffee bags to my coffee table.
The following is a list of commonly used nicknames for our cat,in no order in particular.
I’m responsible for nearly all of them.
- Fuzzy smudgens
- Dr. Toes
- Dr. Pants
- Professor toez
- The dark lord
- BUN. (confusing, seeing as I also call Alvin this)
- His lordship
You’re welcome, people of the internet.
Two days ago when so many people stood up and said “Me, too” on Facebook, I was one of them. And then 2 hours later I took that post down. The reason I took it down is because on some level I still feel some shame or some confusion regarding some of the things that have happened to me. So instead of explaining that shit anymore I’m going to say this.
I believe You.
It doesn’t matter what the circumstances were, I don’t care if you should have been more sober. I don’t care if you weren’t as in control of yourself as you wish you had been. I don’t care if you were a sex worker and you couldn’t talk to anybody else about it at the time, and you’re still confused about it. It doesn’t matter the circumstances were that led to your sexual assault(s).
Me. Too. I believe you and I love you.
Fuck nuance, fuck what you should have done differently, It shouldn’t have happened, and I believe you.
There’s a special place in hell for people who move into an apartment complex and just decide(like assholes) to let their cats be “indoor/outdoor cats”. BRUH. of course your cat is going to (probably) like that, because it’s a tiny murder-ball. Our little familiars really aren’t that far removed from proud, wild things. So, when let outside, they form weird carnivore-musical cliques.
Here’s 2 of the jerks.
Tbh, they’re adorable.
My husband is defensive of our cat and actively roots for the destruction of our local tribe of switchblade-pawed assholes. It’s precious. Also precious, was his confusing “West end” with “West Side ” which I think we can all agree would have been a very different Leonard Bernstein experience .
I’m writing this on the couch while watching Kathleenlights tutorials and wearing dinosaur pants. It’s almost 11, and I shouldn’t be in dinosaur pants because there’s shit want to do out in this beautiful, green world before I leave for work at 4:00.
So, I’ma do them.
You do you.
I know that if you’re not a Trump supporter, you’re pissed right now. I am fucking livid and also worried. Remember to breathe, remember to fact – check, and live your life as an act of beautiful resistance. I love you.
After sleeping on beds that weren’t my bed for two weeks while out out of the country and having some back pain (that’s normal) but nothing near the bone-smelting level I’d been experiencing prior to our trip, I now know the issue is our bed. Logically , this led to me feeling actual hate towards the bed, as if it was a human who is intentionally crushing my little bird bones into dust. So, we bought a mattress topper. From Mancini’s sleep-world.
Mancini’s is one of those places that has loud-talking car-salesmen types who are likely all named something like “Chad” or “Stan” and exude weird, old-school douchebag out of their ugly poly-blend polo-shirts while sweatily stare-smiling you into a more expensive purchase than you want to make. Or, they’re trying to ask questions I’ve already asked Alvin and myself, because I’m not about to be sold some bullshit I don’t want. I was prepared for this, because I know mattress store are hellscapes. I managed to not get bullied into buying more than what I wanted and we bought an under $400 mattress topper to be shipped to our house by this Monday. On Monday the fucker had not been delivered and I’m tired of waking up every morning feeling like a package of kale chips in the bottom of a bag filled with pickle-jars. So, we ordered one on Amazon on Tuesday, and at the moment, it’s laying on our apartment floor, uncompressing.
That may or may not have been a good Idea, seeing as I locked my cat in the closet while at my appointment today, and he may or may not shit on it/eat it/murder it.
I’ll know soon.
There’s no moral here other that Amazon is terrific and I hate mattress stores because they’re terrible.