This morning I was startled awake by the heinous loud beeping of the carbon monoxide detector. My heart began pumping quicker, signaling to me that we probably needed to evacuate the house before submitting to a gas induced death. I jumped out of bed. I tried to think about where the cat carrier was. I found the dog sleeping on the couch, unimpressed by my antics. I put on shoes. I did not put on a bra. I grabbed my cell phone. These are the actions that I took in a very sleepy and very confusing emergency. I texted my husband, in a calm fashion. I was instructed to climb an it’s-too-early-for-this-$hiz-step-ladder and press a button that said “SILENCE”. As it turns out, the carbon monoxide detector was simply malfunctioning. Phew. In celebration that I would not be evacuating my home, and would in fact live to see the afternoon, I passed out into a deep sleep still wearing a questionable pair of crocks. I only know that I wore my crocks to bed because I woke up with them off and under the covers. It’s confusing to wake up with a rubber clog negotiating its way into your backside. […]
I think I’ve been avoiding words.
For months I have been making eyes with a very shut computer, unable to crack the lid of my laptop and type. I’ve buried myself deep into distractions, watching the hours count down, watching the sun go down, waiting for inspiration, waiting to feel like I’ve something to say. Days slipped by as I felt unsettled and restless. Why can’t I write? I would move my body into the kitchen and go through the cupboards, trying to find some inspiration there. Just make something–a nudging whisper from my internal voice, barely audible. […]
I know this soup looks entirely like winter, but I’m not convinced that soup should have a season.
Plus, if we’re honest, spring hasn’t been super committal this year. It’s somewhere between 50 degrees and 87 degrees every day. So, my California wardrobe feels confused. Do I wear a sweater, or is this fog going to burn off– leaving me to sweat like an Easter ham? Do I gamble and wear a dress? Or, is it going to start raining–leaving my laboriously shaved legs to goosebump and become spiky once again. It’s confusing to be in your thirties and feel like you’re not able to dress yourself correctly. At least we have soup, you guys. I get soup. I understand soup. Soup’s not going to make me feel like an idiot for wearing this sweater. I love you, soup. I really do.
Happy New Year, Friends!
You know how the presence of a new year has everybody feverishly whipped up in a resolution making tizzy? I get it. It feels like a fresh slate that needs to be marked with promises to oneself about how many vegetables we plan on cramming into our bodies. A sense of pressure builds towards midnight, until you find yourself on the couch blurting out random things you plan to do in 2016 to your husband. He looks on at your quizzically, as you shout things like “I’M GONNA MOVE MORE!” and “UKULELE LESSONS!!!”. […]