Finally a full night’s sleep. Well, for the most part. I woke up a couple times to L-theanine nightmares, so drenched in sweat I had to swap pajamas. Checked the NBA app to find the Knicks had the biggest comeback of the season against the Rockets. I went to bed a little after halftime because my two-week illness made a strange resurgence this weekend.
I swear I’ve been sick off and on all January/February. All of us sick under the same roof in an 1100-sq. ft. house with dry forced heat and zero circulation, just hotboxing this virus. Whenever I think I’m better, I get on the treadmill and set myself back a few days. It’s awesome. Truly. I’m starting to feel like the only path to a strong immune system is living in the mountains, by a beach, or in a desert. Landscapes! The cure to all that ails you is committing to an actual fucking landscape. Or at least opening your windows.
Anyway, I aggressively blew my nose and built upon the mountain of crumpled up toilet paper on my “nightstand” (cheap particle board cabinet on wheels). Got dressed in Starter windbreaker pants and an oversized raglan. Pulled my hair into a high pony with a pink crushed velvet scrunchie. Swipe of clear NYX Fat Oil. Smudged MAKE UP FOR EVER “Whatever Black” liner under my eyes, curled my lashes, and applied Diorshow mascara in 090 Black. I haven’t worn mascara in months, so I figured around the house is a low-stakes reintroduction.
It’s one o’clock now. Not much to show for the day. I just fed Bianca an egg with broccoli and cheese. Put her down for a nap and she’s crying as I write this, but I think she’ll knock out in a minute. I’m out on the couch drinking an iced matcha and eating a vanilla frosted sprinkle donut from Dunkin because I am afflicted with the double-ennui of illness and suburbia. Andrew is cleaning the house. I am a good wife.
We’re supposed to get a foot of snow in the next 24 hours. I’m thinking about baking a loaf of bread for the first time in two years. Part II of the podcast I went on drops tomorrow. I hope you will give it a listen!
My bestie Rachel was supposed to visit today. Unfortunately I had to cancel because my house remains a germ den. This sucks so badly. She was bringing jalapeno cheddar sourdough…
Went for a three-mile run around the lake with Mousse this morning. A walk-run, really. I consider anything that isn’t at least 90% continuous running a “walk-run.” For most of my 15 years running I would not stop even for traffic. It’s amazing I am alive.
I felt weak and sick pretty much the whole way, but it was heaven just to be outside. There were so many people out with their dogs, people running, people pushing strollers. Signs of life! The lake was a sheet of ice dotted with geese and I thought about how truly mid I find that band, Geese. I’m sorry. I will keep trying to give them a chance. No I won’t.
As soon as I put on my cobalt blue Lululemon base pace leggings, my thighs started to itch. Lily from Health Gossip had mentioned something about this I think, that people had reported intense itching and bruising with synthetic athleisure. I NEVER put two and two together, but that’s been happening to me for years.
I specifically remember one night over the summer, I was at an outdoor bar and thought I got bit, my thighs were itching so badly. When I got home and changed out of my garbage synthetic black capris from Aerie, my thighs were purple. No bug bites. It looked like I’d fallen down a flight of stairs.
I need to bite the bullet and buy all natural fiber workout gear. This whole industry of Lulu, Alo, etc. just skeeves me out anymore. Like it does not make me feel skinny fit slay, it makes me feel like a walking endocrine disruptor.
I’ve been watching Tell Me Lies all day. I saw the first season when it came out in 2022 and totally forgot about it until everyone started talking about it again. Didn’t even realize they’d made other seasons! It feels good to binge a girl show. Lots of sex in Tell Me Lies. Keep your puritanical takes out of my face I wanna watch hot people fuck yes lord amen.
Today the latest addition to my collection of early aughts digital cameras arrived in the mail: a Nikon Coolpix 4300. Another $20 eBay score. This one feels more complex than the others I’ve been playing with. It’s also the most cumbersome. I’ll review the manual a little and mess around with it in the yard to see if I plan to keep it. Kinda hard to imagine going to the trouble of returning or relisting something that was $20 and came in the original box with all the fixins. Maybe I’ll give it away to someone on Substack. HMU.
Yesterday was a legendary stream of brainrot activity. Or rather, non-activity, because to feed such perverse, manufactured curiosities is an antisocial impulse that traps you in a vortex of inertia. It started with the Clavicular episode of Adam Friedland.
Sadness is not the emotion that comes to mind. Though, I probably said “this is soooooooo sad” 20 times aloud to my husband. No, I am not sad for Clavicular. I do not mourn a generation of men lost to looksmaxxing forums and manosphere goonbait slop content or whatever the fuck they call this shit. I merely watch and think… here is a young person… a really, really young person who, if he doesn’t die livestreaming himself injecting some bunk Chinese peptide, will probably snap out of this. Something about him in particular, can’t put my finger on it, just feels like a guy who’s gonna have a spiritual reckoning and leave a very different legacy than what we see today. You heard it here first.
After that I vaporized 90 minutes watching some girl apply lipgloss on Instagram Reels. One girl. Don’t even remember her name. She was on my explore page and I watched all her videos. Then I went on the MAC website and added three items to my cart totaling $76. Closed my eyes for 10 seconds and felt the hands lift from my marionette strings. I will not be controlled. I WILL NOT BE CONTROLLED. Abandoned cart. Ran into the living room and freaked out to Andrew, then journaled begging God’s forgiveness for taking my life for granted.
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