Well, Darling Ones, we got a bit of a good news bad news situation up in this joint.
One bit of good news, for the most part I’ve kicked the insomnia to the curb and am melatonin free. There’s some unfortunate 6 a.m. wake ups, but nothing a little bit of practice* can’t take care of.
The bad news? I’ve been consistently plagued with awful nightmares. They run the gamut from the OMG what are we doing eating inside this restaurant where nobody is wearing masks and we aren’t either? to romantic rejection in the cruelest ways possible. That’s what woke me up this morning. Before I drifted back to sleep I wrote what I thought was a poignant and beautiful post about loneliness and sex and romance and being a tall, fat woman — only I wrote it in my head and when I decided to type it out it was just too.
Yesternight** I dreamt I had a screaming fight with Sister #3 where I said I would never forgive her for sabotaging my relationship with the Tibbles. Then she got mad and turned our dad against me (something she’s actually, factually done in the past to Sisters #2 & #4).
Even though I woke up cloaked in melancholy from the bad dreams I vowed to make today decent.
I started out so well, all good news.
First, I put together a lasagne for dinner (it was delicious, thanks for asking).
Second, I finished reading the very excellent Plain Bad Heroines, which you should read if you like creepy books or lesbians or movies or books about books. For real it’s a Top 10 book of 2020 for me (and I’m at like 110 books so far this year so. . .)
Third, I crocheted a goofy hat for Wendell while listening to the new Postal Service live record. This didn’t really help the melancholy because it just made me nostalgic for who I was 15 years ago.
Fourth, this how hard I was trying! Four things!, I watched a surprise live stream of Amanda Shires & Jason Isbell. This live stream delighted me so much that I said out loud, to nobody, “This is making me happy.”
But then the bad news, I got a text from Sister #2 that said they could come for Christmas from the 24th-26th and I was all, “Uhhhh. . . What?” I’d show you a picture of the face I made but you’ve seen enough of my potatohead lately.
So then I got to tell her I wasn’t comfortable with that and I thought it was too risky, which she totally understood but it sucked. They said they might still come to see Maxwell and stay in a hotel and. Fuck, man. I don’t want them to do that either, but not my circus, not my monkeys, right? At least Sister #4 agreed that it was an awful lot of risk to take.
After that I spent about an hour on the couch crying and petting Wendell.
Why does everything have to be so fucking hard all the goddamn time?
Jodi
*Practice is my favorite euphemism for masturbation from The Replacements’ song “If Only You Were Lonely.” I ain’t very good, but I get practice by myself.” My second favorite euphemism is chasing the unicorn.
**An actual word, archaic yes, but actual. Reminds me of the other night when my friend EM asked me what the masculine version of ballerina is and I said, “I dunno, ballerino?” And we laughed heartily because it was funny and later on in the conversation I looked it up and IT’S AN ACTUAL WORD. Then I made her tell me how smart I am.