Let Me Clear My Throat

Fair warning. I don’t have a vision for this blog other than that I have lots of ideas swirling in my brain and I really need them to come out. If you’re on the edge of your seat about what comes next, let me assure you that I am, too.

Quick question: How does one go about staying apprised of current events, tell the difference between facts and rhetoric while watching the news, avoid falling apart over the war on women’s bodies, keep loved ones safe from COVID, support local businesses, worry about the polar bears, navigate extended family dynamics, remember to floss, spread holiday cheer, put the wheel back on the toy tractor - again, AND keep from sticking to the kitchen floor? Asking for a friend.

I have written in past blogs about how sometimes my mind spins with anxiety, collecting worries to fuel itself further, and I don’t always know how to press the pause button. It’s a form of hypervigilance that consumes me, yet there is a component that comforts me in some weird way. If I am already on high alert, it’s as if I inventory every other aspect of my life to assess whether I should be on high alert about those things, too. It ensures I won’t be blind-sided. It’s like a snow ball, rolling down a mountain, gathering more snow as it passes. It gains momentum and continues to grow until the weight of it crushes me. In the past I would pour a glass some glasses of wine to quiet the inner monologue. But now that I don’t find comfort in that behavior anymore, I have been on the hunt for new coping strategies.

Guess what? I found one. Guess what else? IT’S THIS. This blog has become the fire extinguisher for the dumpster fire burning inside my brain. When I empty the contents of my mental junk drawer through my writing, I feel calmer. I feel proud of myself for being able to articulate my thoughts clearly, creating meaningful content, and sharing myself so openly with others. Although I am only a few weeks into this project, I already feel more connection with readers than I expected.

So, to strengthen this connection, be more explicit with my personal boundaries, and to set expectations for future interactions with family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, UPS delivery drivers, and/or the cashiers at my very favorite retail establishment (Trader Joe’s), I am going to share what is on my mind today. Without further ado, in the words of my homie, DJ Kool, “…Let me clear my throat…ah huh, ah huh, ah (God Damn)…”

News. There are three sides to every story. My side, your side, and the truth. Regardless of your preferred source of information, it is your responsibility to recognize that bias exists in the media. It is possible to report factual information while also spinning the data set so it tells the story a news organization wants to tell. Media bias is different than fake news though, so before you

r rely on any single source, be sure it’s reputable. I really like Letters from an American. It’s a daily newsletter written by Dr. Heather Cox Richardson, a Professor of History at Boston College. Each newsletter is comprised of content from a variety of sources, which are all cited. If you to come at me with a point of view that is different from mine, and try to show me the error of my ways, cite your source or kindly fuck all the way off.

Jeans. Recently Max asked me if he could create a TikTok account. I said yes, as long as we paired it with an adult account, which meant that I needed an account, too. At first I thought TikTok was a waste of my time, but now I’m fully invested in pissing away hours each night with videos of dogs with big personalities and families attempting trendy dance routines. HOWEVER. My obsession has led me down a dark and narrow path toward replacing all of my jeans. (I have also tried the middle part, but my heart is just not in it. It’s too 8th grade after a summer encounter with Sun In. And bangs. Cringe.) If you, like me, find yourself wanting to buy jeans you wore in high school, I like these and these. Both are from GAP, and both were on sale when I bought them.

My body, my choice. Again with TikTok. One account I really LOVE belongs to @drjenniferlincoln, an OB/GYN. She provides insight about lots of things, but most important to me is her perspective on reproductive rights. She posted a video a few days ago about how to argue about abortion. She says that no one is going to change their beliefs about abortion through conversation. Beliefs are beliefs and that’s okay. Instead, the conversation should be about how personal beliefs should not impact the choices other people make about their own bodies. Pro-choice does not necessarily mean pro-abortion. It means that you get to make choices about your own body and I get to make choices about mine. If I can’t tell you to get your fucking vaccine, then don’t tell me what I’m allowed to do with my uterus.

Not being the favorite parent. Luke LOVES hubs. Hubs is his veryfavoritepersonforevertheend. When hubs is not home, Luke tolerates me while impatiently waiting for hubs to come home, telling me every six seconds that he needs a daddy hug. When I explain this to outsiders, they respond with fake sad faces, sympathetic arm pats, and rumblings of “poor mama.” Your efforts to soothe me are wasted. THIS DYNAMIC 100% DOES NOT HURT MY FEELINGS.

Later, losers. Enjoy watching tractor videos on YouTube. Again. I’ll be upstairs watching TikTok if you need me. I might also be buying new jeans.

Missing in-person interaction. I don’t. I love working from home. I love not parking 1,000 miles from my office and walking in the cold when I undoubtedly have to pee. I love not packing my lunch. I love Hannaford grocery deliveries. I love my basement gym setup. I love not going to parties. I love not shaking hands. I love not hugging people I barely know. This is a pandemic silver lining at its very best.

In my feelings. There are 27 human emotions. Some people feel their emotions strongly. Some people don’t. Some days I feel all of them…at the same time. Can we please come to Jesus for a quick sec? I am entitled to my feelings and you are entitled to yours. You, however, are not entitled to tell me how I should be feeling OR whether the amount of emotion that I am feeling is too little or too much. Stay in your lane, boo.

COVID vaccines. See here.

That’s it for today. What’s on your mind? Tell me about it on Facebook.