Before we begin, please imagine me face down on the couch, head smooshed into the grubby cushions, cereal shrapnel and muddy dog prints decorating my periphery. That is where I metaphorically am. I am not sitting upright at my desk typing. I am using telepathy from my frazzled, stuttering brain. Nothing is happening in a linear fashion around here. No thing. It’s all illusion and mirrors. I am stuck on the couch now, and here I shall remain for all eternity because getting up would require energy and I don’t know what that is anymore. ...
Pretty much, I just want to walk around these days yelling I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW BEING ANTI-RACIST IS CONTROVERSIAL.
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT’S SO HARD FOR 99.999999% OF PEOPLE TO WEAR MASKS.
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHY BEING COMPASSIONATE IS POLITICIZED.
But I do understand.
I understand we’re selfish.
I understand we feel attacked. ...
Just a few quick things.
Thing 1: I went to the food cart pod in our little town today, and this dude showed up, went to two carts, said, “I don’t need anything today, I just didn’t have any cash to tip last time I was here,” and then he popped cash money into their tip jars. DEAR LORD, DIARY, I CANNOT EVEN TELL YOU HOW MUCH I NEEDED TO WITNESS KINDNESS. I legit teared up. Swear to God Almighty Maker of Heaven and Earth, it was a GIFT to watch that. It was like rain after drought. It was like sparkling joy in the midst of whatever cluster we’re in right now with rampant unkindness and a global pandemic and folks unwilling to listen to people who are being harmed. I wanted to follow that dude home like a puppy. Just to soak in his goodness for a little longer. But I didn’t because I occasionally, every now and then, just to mix things up have appropriate social boundaries. Not following the dude was like my gift back to him. You’re welcome, kind dude. Keep being excellent. ...
a) Back pain is NO JOKE, Diary. I’ve spent the last 48ish hours rapidly breathing short, unsatisfying breaths, pausing to mentally brace myself before I stand up or sit down, and icing, medicating, yoga-cat-posing, and generally fussing. Bright side = caught up on a lot of Riverdale. Down side = overall malaise.
b) The overall malaise may not be from back pain. Or may not be only from back pain. It may also be slightly, marginally, minimally, somewhat a side effect of the Third Quarter Phenomenon (TQP). My friend, Doreen, who was once, is now, and forevermore shall be smarter than I am, is also a psychologist, and wrote last week about TQP in Psychology Today: ...
Just before we moved into self-isolation, I hit a new stride with book-writing. I was managing 2500+ words per day, and not all of them were crap, so that was a major win. I’d spend the morning writing at home, and then, when my family members interrupted me for the billionth time, I’d bail. I’d head downtown in our little village with its old brick buildings and coffee shops and bakeries and ice cream counters, I’d grab a snack or a caffeine boost, and then I’d go to the library, heavy bag in hand, laden with computer and research materials and post-it notes and multi-colored pens because everyone knows Only Good Things Happen when multi-colored pens are involved. ...
Today’s the day. Abby and Chandler’s college graduation in the stadium in Honolulu.
The cheering and being the Too Loud Mommy one more time as they walk across the stage.
The chaos of trying to find them afterward and lei them with the flowers I sent Greg to buy in Chinatown this morning.
The big party on the lanai in Abby’s building with all their friends, thrown with Audrey’s family — Abby’s bestie from kindergarten through their senior year of college — seventeen years in a row of school together, seeing each other through triumph and trauma. ...
Summer arrived in Oregon yesterday with clear skies, summer winds blowing immature cherry stems off the trees, and temps creeping steadily upward into the high 80s. It’s swimsuit weather. Play outside weather. Linger in the sunshine weather. Spring will be back with a vengeance on Monday, though, if the weather reports are to be believed. It’ll be rainy day followed by rainy day followed by rainy day and repeat. Oregon’s never really been one for adhering to dates on a calendar for determining what season it is. Sometimes we rip through winter, spring and summer in a single day. But for now, and through Sunday, Diary, you can find me outside, which is my Happiest Place. ...