Dear Diary,
I didn’t watch the video of George Floyd’s murder.
I couldn’t.
I can’t.
I didn’t watch the video of Ahmaud Arbery’s murder, either.
Their dying breaths.
At the hands of White Authority.
Modern lynching.
Careless disregard for lives deemed less valuable, less worthy — just LESS — than their own.
I hide the videos as they pop up in my Facebook feed, even while I read the articles, the calls to action, the statements of outrage, and the cries of grief. ...
Dear Diary,
I found a turd on my desk this morning.
An actual poop.
Just one tiny tootsie roll, all by itself, still fresh. Puppy sized. But there was no way for the puppy to get on my desk, and, also, he wasn’t in my room. Which means the turd just spontaneously materialized there. Or someone put it there. Except WHO WOULD DO THAT so I’m going with Option A — spontaneous materialization. I cannot accept the horror show alternative that I’m STUCK IN MY HOUSE QUARANTINING with a MONSTER who deposits mini poopies, hot off the presses, ON MY DESK. ...
Dear Diary,
a) Back pain is NO JOKE, Diary. I’ve spent the last 48ish hours rapidly breathing short, unsatisfying breaths, pausing to mentally brace myself before I stand up or sit down, and icing, medicating, yoga-cat-posing, and generally fussing. Bright side = caught up on a lot of Riverdale. Down side = overall malaise.
b) The overall malaise may not be from back pain. Or may not be only from back pain. It may also be slightly, marginally, minimally, somewhat a side effect of the Third Quarter Phenomenon (TQP). My friend, Doreen, who was once, is now, and forevermore shall be smarter than I am, is also a psychologist, and wrote last week about TQP in Psychology Today: ...
Dear Diary,
Today I turned “I Threw My Back Out” years old. I feel like that’s a legit rite of passage. Like getting my period. Or passing the test for a driver’s license. Or finding my first grey hair. I have plenty of friends who’ve already passed the Licking Flames of Back Pain Fire threshold. I’m a late bloomer, I guess. No surprise, though, that I’ve taken longer than the others to mature. I mean, I still feel like I’m sneaking something when I watch shows with “for mature audiences only” warning, like I’m getting away with doing something underhanded and deliciously nefarious. ...
Dear Diary,
I’d prefer to avoid writing to you today because I’m in a state of transition and trying to figure out next steps and it’s easier to Avoid Everything right now by watching YouTube videos and season 4 of Riverdale with Abby than it is to Engage My Brain, Figure Out What I’m Thinking, and Make a Plan.
There. I wrote that sentence, got up from my desk, made a cup of tea, ate a cookie, wandered around the backyard picking up dog poop, snuggled the puppy, texted my neighbor about the merits of walking vs. not walking, chatted with Chandler about tuna salad recipes, and now I’m back at my desk. ...
Dear Diary,
Today was our annual meeting in cooperation with Ian, his social worker, and his care provider to write and edit his Individual Support Plan (ISP) and update the detailed report of his needs, interests, and preferences, as well as what services he requires as an adult who experiences intellectual and developmental disability. It comprises an enormous battery of information, including his areas of strength and vulnerability in medical, financial, behavioral, social, emotional, and vocational arenas. Everything from yes, he balances well and can walk up and down stairs unassisted to no, he still doesn’t like pasta. Also, he wants to own a macaw someday. But, really, who doesn’t? ...
Dear Diary,
I couldn’t write to you over the weekend. Too crazy with Normal Life — almost at a schedule and pace like the Before Times.
Picked up the Cutest Puppy Friday.
Did not sleep much Friday night (see also: Cutest Puppy and synonyms Peeing Puppy, Barking Puppy, Bitey Puppy, I’ll Eat Your Hair Puppy, and I’m Only Happy on Your Face Puppy… aka, BABY CREATURE). ...
