1.12.23
Well -- hi there. It’s been quiet a while... I don’t even know- I think a pandemic has passed. I’ve definitely gained about 15 lbs, and when I look in the mirror at age 38, I feel like a sea witch stole my beauty, or a domestic abuse victim who has to pull it together for the day, but my abuser has been, well, life.
But I’m okay. In therapy- Mindy is her name. She’s a Jew married to a black man, so I love her, and I agree with her most of the time, but, for instance, last session she suggested I join the gay man’s chorus or a church, so I re-think occasionally if she’s in her right mind, or if in fact, she knows me at all, because I’d rather lie down in front of a moving car than sing in a formal choir or become a member of a church.
I have a dog now. Theo is his name. You know how in life some things just click? Some things feel like a little “life lottery,” like, “I almost feel guilty because I shouldn’t have gotten so lucky with this [insert thing], but here I am.”? That’s Theodore Barnaby. Tom got him for me probably because he thinks I’m suicidal or having a break down most of the time- which is probably true- but God did he really hit it on the nose. I’ll never tell him that because I don’t want him to have a moment of self-congratulatory indulgence, but this dog is sent from a higher power. First of all, every time I look at him in the eyes, my heart melts. It’s frequently annoying because most of the time, I just need to get the fucking jelly out of the closet to make my PB&J or am passing by the couch to grab the clicker, but then he is just perched on top, watching me, with his coal black eyes and button nose, adoring me for no reason other than being me, and I oftentimes say out loud, “I love you so much I could squeeze you until I crack your lungs.” Which Tom neither finds funny nor sweet.
Work sucks. I’ve literally had more jobs at age 38 than most people will have in their lifetime, but I can’t help it. Everyone is terrible. Companies don’t know how to run themselves. Bosses think they know how to manage things and they’re incompetent and inept. Not saying that I have some kind of insight on any of this shit, but I’ll tell you who doesn’t: most companies and people. I just have a rule that as soon as I hate it, I leave. So that generally offers me a 6-8 month runway before I’m back on LinkedIn. I am fairly certain you’ve gotten my resume. Like, check your inbox, I’m probably at the bottom with a cover letter.
Our neighbor came over the other night for dinner. Celeste. She’s a realtor. I love her because, at age 70, she’s a not-so closet smoker and has a daughter whom she can’t stand when she visits from Utah, but with a thin veneer of decorum, pretends to enjoy it. She;s from Portland and moved to Chicago with a degree in Journalism and spent some time in Italy. An educated world traveler, I’ve always had my suspicions she did a lot of drugs in the 70s. While she practices consummate etiquette at the dinner table and she is always sending a thank-you card after some favor. So it’s funny because when we had her and her daughter over for dinner, her daughter decided to tell us about her new sex toy chest business.
“Most girls don’t even know what they look like.” She said at one point, and it took me a second to realize she meant their vaginas. And then I realized for her to be telling me this, she must have - I suddenly pictured her leaning over with a hand-held mirror looking at her own. “..And that many more never even orgasm.” “Right.” I responded, glancing at Celeste with a weak smile painted with red lipstick disguising her personal horror.
“People don’t have places to store their toys,” her daughter remarked. “Right.. I guess they just put them in drawers..?” I asked.
“Yes, but for instance, I have 5 toys. I need a place to store and charge them.” God, your vagina must be a cavern, I thought. “Oh, so the chests have chargers?” “Oh, yes..” “That’s a pretty good idea,” I replied. “You can’t tell anyone about this-” Celeste chimed in, mostly, I assume, out of embarrassment.
“Who am I going to tell?” I said.
--
Anyway, so it’s 2023. Everything is clearly off the rails and I’m just trying to get by.
I’m getting back into the swing of things and just wanted to say hi. I’ve missed you. Sending some love. Hope to talk again soon.











