Fifth Grade, Listening to OAR

"I'm in fifth grade" I said to Puhg. We had turned down a quiet street in the neighborhood. It feels suburban even though traffic is behind the houses and the observatory is under the moon. It's so hot in LA, which made me cranky last summer. But this summer we have a new AC unit. Now the August mug feels right. I had my own body at 11. The playgrounds become equipment when they used to be castles. In three more years they'd be hangouts, places to lounge around and gossip. I remember when three of us were draped across the slides behind my old elementary school and someone brought up how N_____ S_______ had jumped up and down at a graduation party and exposed her tummy which was surprisingly soft and pudgy. We'd all honed in on the exact same moment, our collective hive brains humming, "But I thought she exercised." But in fifth grade there was only regular and fat.

I didn't know what middle school would look like and I never thought about it. I had signed up for four weeks of summer camp, but I didn't guess what would happen there. The future existed but I hadn't begun to consider it. In 6th grade when I went to the pool I looked at the lifeguards and wondered if I worked with them who would be my friend and if I would man snack bar or the deep end. I drew myself in a sketch pad holding one of the official red inner tubes. I had a nose ring. I don't know where that image came from, but it came to be, what, ten years later?

The future has been better and worse than expected. What sounds good on paper can be excruciating and what sounds terrible can be pretty good. And awareness can make it all the worse or better.

But so this feeling is here now, I notice. It certainly helps that in the evening we ate raspberry blue gummies, watched Last Action Hero, and ordered pizza. If that isn't 90s vibes. Nevermind the gummies were organic and the pizza vegan (delivered via application) and the movie digitally rented from a super conglomerate streamed straight to our Apple TV. Nevertheless. It was night and there were no plans for morning or forever for that matter. I couldn't hope if I tried. Swam in the afternoon and I'll do it again today.

Everyone Is Doing Their Best

 That's what my therapist says. It upsets me. Because it doesn't seem like it. I guess strangely it's easier for me to believe some of the worst people (The Cheeto) are doing their best. They are ignorant, broken, and have probably never been happy in their life. They don't even know how to be better. But people around me do know. People I am close to. They know, and still. I mute friends rapidly these days. People going to restaurants and having parties and taking vacations in a pandemic. They don't shoulder most of the blame, of course, that's our government. But I think they shoulder some. I watched The Reader last night.

I don't think I'm always doing The Best, but maybe that is My Best. Certainly I've been on the cusp of a better choice and still chosen unwisely, less selflessly. I have. It was short and it was quick. I guess I refuse to believe in a world where selfishness is honored. There is acceptance if I want to go on. But isn't acceptance anti-activist? And if everyone is doing their best and we are meant to accept that, haven't we proven there is no free will? The cosmos aligned to get you right here after all. How is that your fault, or anyone's? Even a serial killer has a burst brain set up by a trillion pinballed atoms throughout history. Am I to believe I was born on a roller coaster, strapped in with only two choices--flail or sit?

Cherry

Made a pan of brownies Sunday night. We conveniently had a new tub of Extreme Moose Tracks in the freezer too. Once I realized I also had a pint of heavy whipping cream there was no turning back from a full-on sundae. I spent a solid minute staring at the jar of maraschinos I keep on hand for Shirley Temples. In my bowl, two pipin' hot brownies, two scoops of quality frozen dairy product, topped with fresh cream. "Put the cherry on top," I told myself. I didn't feel like eating a cherry though. "Just throw it away later if you don't want to eat it. Complete it," I told myself. But why waste something, anything, just to be "right"? And "right" is clearly far too strong a word. Best? Not even. I wasn't even planning on taking a photo. Should we be picture perfect for no reason? Is a picture reason to be perfect in the first place? Ate the sundae plain. Putting a cherry in my seltzer tonight though.

Chips Ahoy!

We eat so much at home and we hate our plates. They're ugly. They're heavy and have loud fruit patterns on the edges. They make every meal look off-kilter, manic. They were appreciated when we moved into our Chicago apartment with nothing. They were free, leftover from my grandmother. They served their purpose. The other morning, I went on Craigslist to find a new set. I found this ADORABLE little collection of creepy plates. Dessert plates with teeth and rats on them. I sent it to Puhg. He agreed they were cute but way too small. I mean, they are. And my grandmother's dessert plates are a different story. We love those. He said, "You could fit, like, ONE Chips Ahoy on there." His distain made me laugh. I laughed and laughed. Why was that so funny? Specific I guess. We don't even eat Chips Ahoy. We're a dough tub household with Girl Scout cookies rising.

I closed my phone. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water before my run. Puhg went onto the balcony to lift weights. Then he started knocking on the glass. He motioned "Come. Look!" I went outside to see right in front of our building a GIANT Chips Ahoy truck. Isn't that weird, he asked. I nodded. Then I laughed again. Like what even is all this. We had never seen such a truck before, will likely never see it again.

Nothing Is Fair

How often have I learned and still it stings. And everything is supremely more unfair for those who learned it early, does it sting more or less?

Eating Better

I lost four pounds in January and February. I simply told myself, "Maybe just one dessert a day." I didn't even always follow that rule, but it helped me not eat, like, a tray of cookies for dinner. So, four pounds.

Since quarantine began I've lost another ten pounds. There's not really a reason? I'm not going to coffee shops every day sitting down with croissants, but I am in my own kitchen cooking up some veggie bacon and plating a couple Rice Krispie Treats or scones or even, this week, leftover tea snacks. I walk every day, but I did before. Maybe what people say about stress linked to your body is accurate and not driving around LA for meetings, squishing my calendar full of networking events, etc. has calmed my system.

There's also something to having money. I was looking at notes from grad school the other day. I found some jottings I'd taken during a panel a Shakespeare. I remember arriving in my fat backpack, my brain exploding out of my own skull because I saw a full spread of appetizers. I quickly parked it at a corner and started wolfing down cheese cubes faster than I could chew them. I wrapped up two black and white cookies in napkins and slipped them in my pocket. Someone brought me a box of donuts and I ate eight in one sitting. Kale worked at Starbucks and would sneak a bag of pastries out to us at comedy rehearsal instead of trashing them (as is company policy).  I'd eat muffins on muffins and pound cake slices and brownies because I never afforded myself the fancy (oof) treats at Starbucks. It felt so important to seize the danish.

My birthday was last week and I had many treats sent to me. I didn't eat a lot of them. I couldn't, and I didn't want to. There's half a cake in the fridge. I almost had some from breakfast today, but then I had a sandwich because that's what I was actually hungry for. Eight years ago, maybe even two years ago, I would have eaten through that whole feast in 48 hours. I feel so much more settled now that I have just a little more financial stability. Honestly, I still don't have a lot! But enough to not fill with panic about eating two slices of free quiche at a community brunch. When you're not scared of having nothing, you have the ability to take what you need.

Celebration Day

The day I turned another year older this year was a great one. I woke up early, no real reason, around 6 AM. The texts streamed in throughout the morning. I ran two miles listening to all my favorite songs. Usually too much of a good thing, but appropriately indulgent Tuesday. I try to do the dishes between sprints and shower. I considered not doing them. Because of the occasion. But then I decided I really didn't mind.

I took a morning bath with my Lush Unicorn Horn bomb. The water was pink and glittery, tons of bubbles. I lit a peony candle and closed my eyes for a while. I made an oat milk coffee and ate a four peanut butter pretzels, answered emailed diligently and poked at one of my writing outlines. Business as usual is much easier with period dings about how I am important for now.

Lo's bag of tea treats arrived, Puhg picked up a cake, donuts from Kale. We donned masks and picked up my favorite salad. I ate it and watched TV. I forget what now. I did my hair and even added a dash of makeup. I had bought a brand new pink dress. In March I bought super fancy front row seats to a play for this day and this outfit was designed to match. We drove a bit outside LA where Yosh & Coors & Lex & JD live. The four of them came out in masks, dropped a tub of rice krispie treats in the driveway, wiped down in front of us. We chatted from far away, unable to see any recognizable face. After twenty minutes back on the road.

At home I looked through my photos and decided what to post on my Instagram while watching a livestream of the cast of WC. AP mentioned me and how I saved her from a snake two years ago. I posted a photo of me wearing a mask near my apartment's closed pool. More than usual it seemed people were around to send me a little attention. Puhg and I walked. I journaled about the year, I logged into my virtual therapy. I looked nice but didn't mention why. I talked about the mysteries I can't solve myself. I wonder if next year I will know more or just be in more peace.

I emerged from the bedroom very hungry and made a fancy cheese plate. I played half an hour of Animal Crossing. My fictional neighbors threw me a surprise party. Puhg was zonked. It's been literal months since we had more than one plan for a day. I opened the gifts that had been stacking in the foyer. We cut the cake, and he promptly fell asleep. I stayed up a bit reading a guy from one of my writing group's pitch materials. I wrote his feedback and sent it in to him just before midnight.