Journal

Oct. 10, 2024

I lay in the back yard this afternoon with my arm flung over my brow, soaking in the perfect weather. My sister is yelling at me through the bathroom window about Love is Blind and I answer because I’m thinking about it too, coincidentally. My fried brain. I’m a stranded worm on the parched sidewalk of life. Except I’m not laying on the sidewalk, I’m laying on a melting yoga mat in the backyard yelling to my sister on the toilet. My lips are literally falling off and I have cracked heels and I’m chugging so much water I should keep a timesheet at the tap.

If I was a worm I could have a little worm job doing something like traffic cop in the worm tunnels or maybe Lead Excavator down there. The problem is that I would probably still have big worm thoughts and stresses and my life wouldn’t actually be all that different. Except I would miss my arms I think. Also, I don’t think worms get to help their boyfriends move and maybe, also, worms don’t get to stand in line at Ikea and realize as they’re checking out that they finally have the same area code as the worm they’ve had a crush on for a very long time.

Nov. 12, 2024

My mom and I met each other in the middle, each of us walking to the Lutheran church Christmas sale from different directions. She walked from my childhood home and I walked from my boyfriend’s new place. We met in the lobby, a small room containing three old people and a bunch of Christmas themed cat toys. The smell of the inside of the church was nostalgic in a way the inside of an elementary school is nostalgic—weird laminated wood smells and soup and acrylic carpet mashed down by church flats and boat shoes and sneakers and wheelchairs. We took one lap and decided against buying anything but rum logs for my dad (his favorite). How many pot holders does one Lutheran need? Do they buy one every Christmas? Growing up agnostic I feel particularly dumb when it comes to crafts for Jesus.

“Watch out for the smear of dog poop up here,” my mom warns me as we leave the church, walking down the sidewalk towards the car.

My head is immediately on a swivel. If you know me, you know that I can and will obsess over a mess. I, personally, do not want dog poop on the bottom of my second hand gucci loafers that I will always forget to take off before traipsing through the house and around my bedroom. Due to my intense focus I nearly run into a man, his arms outstretched in concern, body precariously perched over the sidewalk in a sort-of tripod stance. He’s guarding the poop.

“Please, people are tracking poop through the vestibule. Greg is getting a bucket of water. It’s everywhere.”

I don’t know Greg but I do know that he’s not taking this business seriously enough. Mom and I merge into the street. There is no one else using the sidewalk for miles and miles.

The concern that the three of us share for the state of this pile is both heartwarming and grounding. To share the stress of a mess, to have something to take care of and handle without much other concern is exactly what we all needed in that moment. Beyond politics and beliefs and daily stresses, we could all worry about poop together without worry of crossing a line. It was nice. We wished him luck.

Dec. 5, 2024

Thanksgiving came too fast and now Christmas is coming too fast. We had a good holiday, though; potentially the last big meal at my Grandparent’s house before they move to the Mennonite village, a nice place with no curbs and water aerobics and golf carts instead of cars. My sister gave a toast and we all sat at the same table for once—no kids banished to the card table across the kitchen. My first time with the adults. For once I don’t have any other thoughts on the subject, this holiday being so uneventful. I’m glad.

I can’t lie, I am so stressed these days. The holidays are hard for work like mine; I feel like I can’t stop or else I lose momentum. All I want to do is enjoy some time to warm up and have nothing on the brain. Maybe stay in bed all day instead of working on the weekends. And then trying to fit fun sales and holiday parties and family, etc, into this…I never feel quite caught up. Exactly why I am so looking forward to the sweet, sweet release of that weird week between Christmas and the New Year—my god. I can make it. Just a few more projects.

I hope you all are having a good winter so far, and I hope you’re not tracking dog poop through the vestibule.

COVER PHOTO TAKEN BY THE VERY BEST HANNAH SHAE — www.hannahshae.co