Life is mud and we're sinking

a turtle with too much screentime

personal stories, self-care, reflection, and healing refreshers for the soul.

Lately work feels like stepping in mud in thick rubber boots. Heavy suction. I make a little progress, I sink down to my kneecaps.

I used to smoke but I never crave nicotine. This week I keep imagining a cigarette the size of a blimp as soon as I sign offline. Instead, it’s the crack of a Diet Coke and a one-hitter (good but not the same).

I have stories to tell but no time, most recently the story about deep-fried turkey in the driveway at 2:30am. Me and four guys. I told a friend the story over text and she sent back an audio message that made me laugh so good. She called it “the cutesy things boys like to do for themselves together.”

I giggled thinking of the plastic packages of meats I opened for them that remained in the cheap packaging, set in front of canned pepperoncinis and pickled Italian vegetable mix, a table of near-charcuterie (to their credit, they made some of the best deviled eggs ever).

So much inspires me hanging out with people who aren’t exactly my people (ain’t that my life story, honey!). Don’t you wanna hear what else happened that night?

Somehow, weekday mornings speed by no matter how early I wake up. The opposite problem of this means I write after work ends, meaning I remain at my desk (like 9 hours of sitting) and end up eating a disappointing 10pm dinner/snack.

I just took on freelance work I’m grateful for but now screentime is amplified. I need to up the magnification on my readers (worn for barely 5 months). I feel like my posture is that of a turtle. My legs are shrinking into my shell of a back. Soon, I’ll roll off my chair and be stuck upside down on the floor.

Send help. Or at least a pack of cigarettes.