Dear Diary,
This is Hazel.
She’s the one in the middle, bookended by my dogs, Zoey and Nyx.
I found Hazel on my porch today, just sitting like a good girl, patiently waiting to be let in so she could play with her friends.
Hazel, of course, wasn’t supposed to come over.
Hazel was supposed to stay home.
Hazel was self-isolating with her family, nine houses away from mine. ...
Dear Diary,
Briefest of all possible entries today because a) I went grocery shopping which was exhausting in the Before Times and is all consuming now that we live in the After Time, so I’m pooped, and b) it’s my kids’ 17th Gotcha Day (aka, adoption day) so I’ll be spending the rest of the day celebrating. While sitting on my butt. Probably with a beer. And some ibuprofen. ‘Cause I know how to party, man. ...
This isn’t a real post.
This is a check-in because I haven’t written a real post.
In brief, here’s what’s happening around our house:
1. I’m writing. All the words. All the time. Morning ‘til night. Weekdays and weekends. Just writing and writing and writing. More soon.
2. The dog ate Greg’s dental night guards a couple weeks ago and it’ll be at least one more before he gets the replacements. That means all I’ve heard and will hear for the foreseeable future is that these are our Consecutive Weeks of Unprotected Grinding. ...
I woke up with a sick feeling in my gut. You know that foggy state of Near Awake when you viscerally remember Something’s Amiss but you don’t yet have the mental faculties to remember What Exactly Happened? It was That. I woke up sad and somehow lonely. I knew, at least, No One Had Died, so thank God for that. That Feeling is more Charcoal and Ash Grey, like sticky soot on the gut. No, this was different. I was just Hurt. Like the way your heart falls on top of your stomach when someone who loves you is thoughtless or cruel in a way that’s impossible to understand. ...
Hello, lovelies!
Just a very quick update from me (even though I’m behind on telling you ALL THE THINGS, which I hope to fix soon) because TODAY was Phase One for NEW TEETH.
NEW TEETH.
All for ME!
Strictly speaking, having one’s face mauled by a dog in early childhood has its downsides. Reconstructive surgeries starting at age two. Plastic surgeries starting at seven. Oral surgery, braces more than once, and five fake teeth installed 30 years ago that have aged about as well as you’d expect. Those things were… less than pleasant. ...
I left my house at 3am today, the first of 20+ days of travel this month, home after this only for farm work days every Saturday I can manage to be there. Farms, man; they’re a lot of work. But there’s so much clean air out there — and constant earth magic — so the trade-off will do.
{Gotta say, though, Dax Shepard’s new sitcom, Bless This Mess, about a couple with less than zero farm experience (I mean it — mathematically negative farm skills) giving up their NYC life for a barren bit of land in Nebraska is cracking us up. It feels very REAL LIFE to us right now, minus barren/Nebraska, plus blackberries/Oregon.} ...
I had Frosted Mini Wheats with a sprinkle of brown sugar and a dusting of garlic salt today which I initially decided was fine.
It was the usual situation. Four hours after waking up, I decided I ought to feed myself. Some people make themselves and their physical needs a priority, understanding that providing their own bodies with nourishment upon waking allows them to better care for others. I imagine they set their alarms for early in the morning, rise cheerfully before their children, make themselves multi-grain avocado toast or a two-egg omelette, and eat it from an actual plate while sitting at the kitchen table with a dare-I-say hot cup of coffee or bright lemon tea. I can only assume people like that are generally rational and well-adjusted with an appropriate balance of self-care… and that they don’t wake up in a high-strung panic after hitting snooze thirteen times, thinking of all the tasks they must accomplish immediately, or yesterday, or last year, and itemizing the ever-expanding list of people they’ve let down with their lack of follow-through on their Very Good Intentions. ...
