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    The crossroads of January ’24

    2024-01-27 /

    Posted on: 1/24/24 at 2pm. Facebook.

    Today I released ladybugs into my plant collections, as I periodically do, and I never get over the surprise at how LOUD ladybugs are.

    Loud, you ask? How is this possible?

    Imagine 1500 tiny cows climbing on top of a forest and falling off constantly. That’s how.

    Posted on: 1/25/24 at 4pm. Facebook.

    Doctor didn’t have appointment. Went to urgent care.

    Me: I have my biannual chest infection because I have asthma and I vape. I need prednisone.

    Physician’s assistant: Do you have any signs of sickness? Fever, sore throat, ear…? *doing all sorts of poking and listening*
    Me: No, I’m quite sure I just have a chest infection from the vaping.

    PA: OMG you absolutely cannot vape, you do not have the luxury, you cannot inhale anything but inhalers when you have asthma.

    Me: OMG nobody ever told me that before.

    PA: Really??

    Me: No.

    Nobody told me that getting lectured by young-20s medical professionals would get more annoying as I get older.

    I know she’s right; I know everyone who has told me this is right. I quit nicotine, I quit alcohol, I even quit my eating disorder (and boy was that an Everest). I know I’m gonna quit vaping everything else someday. I think about quitting every single day, and I do not because I am waging some internal war that I have yet to win. A twenty-whatever doctor telling me, “You cannot vape,” does absolutely nothing to help me win that battle? Because here I am, right now, writing this post and vaping, and even though I “cannot” and “don’t have the luxury” somehow we’re still going.

    It’s like when my midwife told me I needed to stop gaining weight so fast in pregnancy. Like…I was struggling with crushing depression, unable to be medicated because I was pregnant, feeling constantly awful, and had absolutely no way of regulating my diet or exercise while I was going through the mental health chaos storm of pregnancy. But they tell you you’re supposed to stop gaining weight like someone telling you that is the ~magic switch~ they can flip.

    Give me resources to help me quit vaping weed, give me actual medically based suggestions for winning against my impulse control, or give me the dignity of silence because the alternatives do not help at all.

    At least I got the prednisone though!

    Posted on: 1/26/24 at 9am. Facebook.

    Today King is getting his Stelfonta injection for a cutaneous non-metastatic mast cell tumor on his left mammary chain. It will cause mast cell degranulation. He won’t feel very good, so he’s on a lot of antihistamines and steroids, which also don’t make him feel great tbh.

    I just keep reflecting on how much it sucks that King, who is fully our sweet little family member, so important to us, never has done anything wrong in his darn life, cannot possibly understand what is happening to him or why he has to feel bad. I know it’s just EMOTIONS but I jump straight to “welp this how we know there’s no god.”

    Please turn your thoughts toward healthy vibes for King: hoping that this falls off in totality, he heals without infection, and we don’t get any more tumors for a long while. They are very common in his breed but he’s only five years old.

    Posted on: 1/26/24 at 3pm. Bluesky.

    every time Scott Adams exists perceptibly, I remember writing him a hate email when I was like 12. he actually responded to me. I was so confused as to why he was even reading hate mail from kids, much less responding, lmao.

    (I loved Dilbert and I was REALLY disappointed to learn his politics)

    my hate mail was honestly not really hate mail, but as argumentative as i always am and can never resist being. i had seen some anti-gay writing of his (iirc) and i wanted to break down the errors in his logic because, well, i loved dilbert so I Should Fix Scott Adams.

    Perhaps it’s more confusing why I thought a cartoonist *wouldn’t* read all his email. I guess in my head, the guy in the funnies was the biggest celebrity ever, so I was actually just criticizing his viewpoints into a void. I did not respond to his response because it was just weird. ahahaha

    leave it to a 12yo to yell at an adult online, and then when the adult yells back, just kinda say “lol loser” and wander off picking her nose

    i guess the point of this story is that i’m amazed a fragile racist who can’t draw is still around, existing perceptibly.

    perhaps a secondary point is that i have not changed, at all, and i will probably be 112 years old continuing to pick small debates with people in the hopes i can improve their politics/compassion/art

    Posted on: 1/26/24 at 9pm. Facebook.

    I decided it’s time to quit-quit cannabis, period. I’m just not a guy who can moderate. If I keep at edibles, I’m gonna get back to vaping, and I need to take my lung health seriously. So that’s that. You win, 20-something doctor who told me to quit yesterday. I will prioritize asthma.

    I’m nervous because I have been on this stuff so long, I associate its use with…everything in my life. Yanno? I bet a few of you know. But I don’t even “need” the benefits anymore (I have grown so much) so it’s time.

    Considering I’ve quit nicotine before, this is gonna be easy-peasy, right? I went through months of mental chaos and sweating and itching and sleeplessness with that. This one can’t be like that. My brain’s just gonna be really confused for a minute and I need to reprogram associations. I can do it. NBD. Um.

    I already sent my husband around to grab all my stuff and throw it out so I’m already without Stuff. I’m gonna do it. I’m not losing my friend the happy herb; I’m losing frequent chest infections and gaining happy lungs.

    Posted on: 1/27/24 at 8am. Facebook.

    When I quit nicotine, I did a ton of reading about how it works, how it clears from your system, and how to manage withdrawal symptoms. There is a LOT of support for quitting nicotine – I’m sure because it’s been a public health problem since, idk, they were throwing cartons at soldiers in WWII, and we really really know how this goes.

    I’m frustrated trying to find the same information about cannabis. It probably doesn’t exist because, until recently, its classification as a drug precluded most studies. Everything surrounding it is community apocrypha, and for some reason, going off cannabis has been claimed by the same right-wing aesthetes who thought you should eat Kellogg’s cereal to stop masturbating in the 1940s. I’m not kidding. You can find a bunch of *total* *nonsense* that will ultimately link you back to places like Prager U.

    No thank you, I’m staying a leftist hippie and I don’t need fascism to give my life order, you predatory nards.

    So I tried Allen Carr’s Easyway book, since a lot of people like it for nicotine, but the version for cannabis is just…so wrong about cannabis? I can’t get over the recurring claim that cannabis itself does not have an effect, but rather that it relieves the discomfort of withdrawal. That’s how nicotine works: It doesn’t really make you feel better, but once you’re dependent on it, you’ll feel worse whenever you don’t have it. Cannabis actually does do a lot. The whole complex of THC molecules is fascinating.

    That doesn’t mean it’s not possible to develop a maladaptive behavioral relationship! We can even call it addiction if you want. But I find myself totally unwilling to take advice from a book that seems to be lying to me. They’re like, if you take it only once every three weeks, you are still ENSLAVED TO THE DEMON. I’m like, have you ever used weed? lmao.

    The reason it’s hard to quit weed (imo) is that it’s a big nothingburger with very few consequences and it’s genuinely nice. Like, who doesn’t want that? Asthmatics, that’s who. And people who live in places where you can only travel by car. I don’t drive stoned so I don’t go anywhere. I want to go places again. I want to breathe. That’s it. Those are big essential things, but it’s not because weed is a demon, and it’s *hilarious* trying to treat it that way.

    I mean, objectively hilarious. If you’ve ever seen Reefer Madness, you know that people have been talking nonsense unscientific crap about cannabis for generations. Stoners have learned to fully ignore people who have no idea what they’re talking about. I spent eight dollars to read a book by someone who has no idea what he’s talking about. lol.

    I suppose this means I just have to do this the old fashioned way: cluelessly. I found it helpful to understand the timeline of nicotine withdrawal symptoms, but that’s not gonna happen with cannabis. I’m just going to have to feel bad and keep feeling bad until I feel better again. The end.

    My best guess is that my dopamine pathways are screwed up, so I won’t be able to enjoy anything for maybe a month (which is how long it typically takes to “pee clean” with cannabis) and I’m gonna sleep real bad this week. Expect me to flop around on the internet acting depressed a lot.

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  • Diaries,  facebook,  slice of life

    sliced life~

    2024-01-19 /

    lmao. Okay. So King *needs* to be on Benadryl leading up to the procedure for his cancer. It’s a mast cell tumor; he needs an H1 antihistamine to keep inflammation down so it does not spread. In the past, I have not had trouble giving him pills with his kibble.

    Today I discovered he’s been hiding half his Benadryl under his pillow!!!! omg dog I AM TRYING TO SAVE YOUR LIFE.
    Anyway. This dog, he is so human in his facial expressions. You can really tell what he’s thinking all the time.

    I tried putting his pills into cheese to dose him. He started delicately eating the cheese so he could pick around the pills, like he wasn’t entirely sure why I’d given him the gross-tasting cheese but he was game to eat it anyway. Basically spitting out the pill parts.

    Again: OMG.

    I just grabbed the pills and opened his mouth and put one on the back of his tongue so he had to swallow (which I used to do to administer pills on a difficult dog).

    King was MORTIFIED. He ran off to the other side of the kitchen to STARE at me, and I swear to God I could tell he was thinking, “Wait, it’s like that? It’s serious? I *have* to do it? I had no idea it was *like that*.” I could see the little gears turning in his head to recontextualize this activity from “mom keeps giving me gross cheese” to “I have to eat this whole thing OR ELSE.”

    So this smart beautiful boy gagged down the next piece of cheese with the remaining pills. Consciously, deliberately, looking at me to make sure he was doing the right thing. He resisted the urge to chew. And then we cheered him on and petted him a lot and King was like, “…huh.”

    We practiced swallowing cheese chunks whole after that. He decided the game where he Eats Quickly and people are Very Happy is actually a lot of fun, and he would be happy to keep playing that game as long as the cheese holds out.

    This is good news because I am afraid this cancer boye has many medications in his future.

    I feel silly realizing I should have just “explained” to my dog that we’re taking medication now because he would have just done it. Instead I gave it to him without telling him and of course he was like “surely this is a mistake. gross. ptooey.”

    I’m just amazed at what a personality he has, and how obviously, consciously he registered that Mom Is Serious This Time and he changed his mind. I didn’t have to like…actually train him. He just modified his behavior. It’s insane. He’s so smart. He’s just a fuzzy little baby person. I need him to live forever.

    Actual verbatim quote from 9yo Sunshine:

    “I’m going to build this engineering box on my own. It’s for ages eight to twelve, and I’m nine, but I’m as mature as an eleven-year-old, which is basically an adult. I can do it.”

    and i’ll be damned if he didn’t build the engineering project on his own. he only needed help with this tiny rubber band, and we sorted that with tweezers the project didn’t include.

    i feel like i noticed how quickly my now-13yo was growing because they’re my first and oldest, thus always the oldest kid I’ve ever had, and I fall easily into the trap of thinking Sunshine is still my tiny baby (since he will always be the youngest child I’ll ever have again). but now he’s actually almost an eleven-year-old which is basically an adult.

    we’ve also been having incredibly complicated conversations about his emotional landscape (he is dealing with ongoing grief from our dog’s death two years ago, and our current hospice cat) and it’s just amazing to see how much he’s grown inside where i can’t see it. i just get glimpses of this whole wilderness in there, while the outside is still a very cherubic little tanned blond angel with golden eyes. (can you believe i have a blond?)

    his sense of reciprocity is also so clear. he has sturdy boundaries. he loves serving and helping and taking care of people, but he also expects that people will repay him in kind overall. he won’t let himself be used. he’s a force of nature. so yes, he’s also still having a lot of trouble at school and getting into big trouble because he doesn’t see a reason to act respectfully toward adults he doesn’t feel respect him. i can’t be mad tbh. he’s not wrong.

    My 13yo Moonlight is finally old enough to observe the years-long pattern of Mommy’s Interest Swings. Notably, they have seen how I went from having a gazillion plants to having 0.5 gazillions of plants and stuffing our house with yarn instead.

    (Note: Plants and crochet are very compatible hobbies. Plants go where it’s bright. Yarn goes where it’s dark. There is room for NOTHING ELSE IN THE HOUSE. NOTHING.)

    I told Moonlight how I’ve been having stress dreams where we have to move houses quickly, and I can’t figure out how to move my plants. I’m like, “I just love them so much, and I have a lot, and I really have no idea how to move them now? What would I even do?”

    So seeing me creating weird little crochet dolls, Moonlight asked, “Aren’t you worried you’re going to start having nightmares about having too many dolls following you everywhere, once you don’t love it as much anymore?”

    and i was like omg now i’m worried about it

    Too Many Weird Dolls Dreams might be the creepiest potential classification of dream. And I have some pretty freaky dreams about aquariums/vivariums gone wildly beyond my control, so Moonlight might be onto something here.

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  • Diaries,  facebook,  social media crossposts

    sara is a [redacted] woman

    2023-12-16 /

    You know, I always had a really weird relationship with gender. I am assigned female at birth; this matches my self-image (mostly) and how I present to the world (nowadays), but the lattermost thing was…not always the case.

    My mom is a progressive hippie who likes repairing things and grew up adjacent to ranching, so even though she was like, Princess Diana-beautiful in the 80s/early 90s, and *hella* fashionable, she did not enforce any gender roles on her kids. She let us do whatever. We got Barbies and Hot Wheels in equal measure. In a family without social life, I was basically raised agender. (I consider this to be a gift.)

    Self-awareness did not spontaneously develop. For a couple years as a teenager, I was persistently identified as a boy by others because I cut my hair short and wore t-shirts/jeans. Everyone actually thought I looked like Harry Potter. I vividly recall one old man stopping me in a supermarket to call me Harry Potter. I “felt” I was a girl, more like Kaylee on Firefly, and I HATED THIS PERCEPTION.

    But then I also spent a long time wondering like, could I be a guy? There are people like me who are guys. Everyone keeps telling me I’m a guy. (I was not sporty enough to ever be called a tomboy.) It would also explain why all these straight boys at school did *not* want anything to do with me. Maybe I was a gay guy barking up the wrong trees? I sat with this idea for a long long time but it just didn’t fit.

    My interests are/were more masculine, too. I was consistently the only girl in classes about computers and construction technology and GIS when GIS was new. Boys were *never* attracted to me, even though I was *desperately* attracted to boys (lol). (Funnily, my most serious relationship at the time was with a girl, so…) My longest real job was working in a data center, partially in a facilities capacity.

    When I became old enough to buy clothes, I didn’t really know how girls dressed, so I still didn’t know how to gender myself the way I wanted. I had no idea how to make people receive me as a woman. I pieced together an idea of what women are supposed to be like from 00s media and that went as well as you’d expect.

    Oh, and somehow I didn’t catch on from this that I was autistic until (checks watch) like last year, at 30-something years old. You’d think that someone who has no ability to form a self-image, no capacity for regulating one’s looks in regards to the social interface of gender, and a strong preference for extremely specific technical classes might realize what’s actually going on here.

    Anyway, I had to learn to become a woman, even though I’m afab and indeed (mostly) female. Nowadays I have absorbed transient beauty standards, trained myself in a lot of feminine affectations, and perform femininity regularly enough that I haven’t been identified as male in ages. (Getting GIANT BOOBS from 7 consecutive years of pregnancy/breastfeeding is surely a factor.) I have enjoyed being uniformly subjected to misogyny for a while and that’s uh…validating?

    But I actually *do* have a lot of traits that are very masculine, and I still refer to myself as a guy/man/king/etc probably more often than I refer to myself in the feminine. Even I don’t really know where the boundaries are on that. Just, in some contexts, I am a guy. I don’t know! Is it because I grew up with super agender socialization? Or I spent enough time being socially received and regarded as a boy that I just adopted some boy programming, since gender’s a social construct?

    Can you even keep up with this? I can’t. lol

    What I’m circling toward is that I think the nonbinary identity that mostly Gen Z uses is actually a relief.

    It’s a relief because my eldest is nonbinary, pretty much agender, and I truly did not internalize what that meant until my fetus externalized it. And it’s so natural to my child that I can simply relax and exist as myself around them. If I call myself a guy, a king, they don’t even bat an eye. I am Mommy, King of the Family, Just Some Guy, who birthed whole humans out her womb. I don’t have to perform any gender around my family. Turns out I am a very nurturing sweet husband who loves cute things. I want the public to receive me as a woman. It’s okay that all the pieces don’t make sense.

    Man/woman as a binary just doesn’t have to be a THING, if you don’t let it. fwiw, if you marry someone who’s bisexual, you can have any gender presentation and he’ll think you’re hot. that’s cool.

    (in case anyone is wondering – Please continue calling me she/her, but I also accept they/them or any neopronouns you like. No he/him unless we’re doing something sexy. As far as most anyone is concerned, I am fine being grouped broadly with women, but like…Stevia-sweetened woman. Diet Girl, with some artificial boy flavors.)
    (this isn’t news, i’m not coming out, i’m just musing because it’s related to something else I’m writing)

    ~

    The post above is cross-posted from Facebook. One remark I have to add, now having watched Barbie. I always think I’m a woman until I see what society thinks a woman is. Just like, whatever gender Margot Robbie and Scarlett Johansson and Julia Roberts are, I’m not that. I thought I was a woman. Society has consistently begged to differ.

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    Diaries,  facebook

    I am in shape. Potato-on-stilts is a shape.

    2023-11-15 /

    I gained a lot of weight in the last 3.5 years, went from US size 4 to a size 16, and it’s funny how my internet now advertise ~plus size clothes~ to me aggressively. i feel incredibly normal sized at size 16 but the ads are like “Hey fatty! Want clothes for your FATNESS? You can still look hot EVEN IF YOU ARE A FAT FATTY” Also, diet products. SO MANY DIET PRODUCTS.

    It’s wild because at size 16, I feel incredibly normal and I’m within the average spectrum of sizes in my community. I am a 35 year old woman, mother of two, who does not leave her house right now; my body is very suitable for my circumstances. I am five foot ten and around two hundred pounds. Most men would not consider themselves overweight at these proportions, particularly when they do as much house work as I do. It is only women who must feel insufficient because we dared to stop counting calories.

    Capitalism hopes that changing in this way has completely flipped my identity around. I now need to identify as a PLUS SIZE GIRRRRL who wants to DRESS FOR MY CURRRVES (I support women who do this, you’re all really hot, marry me). Personally I dress so that I look like an eldritch witch-elf lurking in my house, like a trap spider, hoping to eat anyone who passes nearby. I do this at all dress sizes.

    And oh my god, the absurd diet/exercise products. I know more about diet & exercise than folks at my eating disorder hospitalization program did (you know how intense I am about crochet now? I was that intense about diet/fitness for 10 years) and I know exactly how ridiculous, injurious, and foolish these ads are. They seem so predatory, too. They are trying to bite at one of the most vulnerable places on my hide.

    Whether it’s “buy your way to pseudo-empowerment” or “fix yourself” nonsense, all I get out of this is that I might have grown in my relationship with body image, but society is still *really really* sick.

    Also I’m not always happy with my body’s aesthetics, but I’ve become a big fan of Body Neutrality. This is just me. I’m not going to hurt myself to change it. Ads aren’t going to talk me into hurting myself to change it. I’m fine.

    I kinda hate curvy fashion because none of it fits me. I’m an apple body type. If I didn’t mostly gain weight in my waist, I’d be two dress sizes smaller. They always think women will have big butts, big hips, big boobs, and then…any waist, whatsoever. I don’t have a waist! I’m not made that way! So I buy this stuff, and it cinches around my waist then looks like saggy diaper butt. Capitalism, if you want me to spend money on this stuff, you will have to make things that actually fit me. I’m going to keep wearing witchy muumuus.

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    Annie’s Retirement Years

    2023-11-07 /

    I am now nursing a fourth pet through her end of life…the first three in 2019, 2020, and 2021, all in a row. I guess the thing that strikes me about the death process is how it *is* a process. For two of my animals who took longer to fade (the others were very ill and went quickly in the end), it’s a lot of slow up and down. Good pain days, bad pain days. Sometimes foggier than others.

    It was really hard going through this with my dog Ichabod because he had dementia, too. He mentally slipped away from us quite a while before he actually died. I kept nursing him as long as he was enjoying food, but even petting became uncomfortable for him, and he started having seizures.

    His death was my last relapse on alcohol. It was soooo bad. I abruptly quit nicotine and the mix of grief/withdrawal just sent me straight into clear liquor, and I got my own seizure when I realized that was stupid and stopped abruptly. (Don’t do that.) God, I was an absolute mess that winter. (Don’t feel too bad for me; I am okay, I immediately picked myself up and went to college for a couple semesters. Like I’m super rugged and committed to being gentler with myself.)

    I’ve had two years to chew on the enormity of my feelings about Ichabod’s death, and everything I learned/felt taking care of a canine dementia patient. It was truly just a time of such utter love and grief. Intimacy. Raw loss.

    Little sweet old Annie is taking me back, though. She’s been my obnoxious drooly best friend for sixteen years. This cat, she has never known the word “no” to mean anything. And everything she wants is affection. Human affection, to be clear. When she had more energy, she would not stay out of my face/hands for HOURS, no matter how many times I set her aside, and she has this dreadful drooling thing so it was MESSY.

    Annie’s also a big poo-starter with other cats. I don’t know why, since we watch all our cats closely, we’re literate in body language, we seldom saw actual conflicts between them. But something about Annie was so loathsome to the other cats when she was younger. She was the outsider of the household colony, firmly glued to humans. The sassiest little tortoiseshell with a crispy dragon-baby meow.

    Nowadays she has a Retirement Room. The spare bedroom has everything she needs, and she doesn’t have to compete for resources anymore. Her unpopularity paired with her growing weakness means she gets whatever she wants in a hundred square feet of cat luxury.

    Her body aches so she can’t clean herself well, but I brush her gently with a boar’s hair brush and wipe her greasy face. She has a gigantic tumor on her shoulder we decided not to remove because she’s been fading a while anyway (although I have doubts about this a lot), so I try to wash that and keep it clean too. She gets daily visits from the family. It’s a pretty nice retirement.

    This is one of her low weeks, though. I can see she is more uncomfortable. She loves cuddling, but her mood isn’t as…warm? I can just see the edge to it, and cats don’t really show pain, so she must be feeling it. All the heating pads and cbd in the cat food can only do so much. It is getting cold. I will keep brushing her for now.

    I don’t think I want her to have to stick it out as long as Ichabod did, but it’s a hard choice when she’s still very much mentally Annie.

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  • Diaries,  facebook

    Changing, Again – Always

    2023-11-06 /

    You know what surprises me about crochet? The way it works muscles I forgot I had.

    It’s improved my grip strength enormously (I think it’s better than when I was heavy lifting—I needed help from straps—and I wasn’t good at rock climbing) and that’s the obvious benefit. I’ve never seen my hands like this. The muscles coming up around my thumbs are so cool!

    But also, crochet works my deltoids a ton. Probably more than any of the standard compound lifts, too. I had to add accessory lifts to get this feeling in my deltoids as a bodybuilder.

    Deltoids are kind of like the muscle caps on the top of your arms, partially controlling the rotation of that complex shoulder joint. Sawing my arms through tight stitches with stiff fabric is *difficult,* and I will do it for *hours* when I’m working on something bulky (a purse, a blanket).

    Even though nothing I’m handling is heavy, I’m watching my arm muscles go crazy and laughing in disbelief like “what??”

    But it also works my chest muscles! I’ve had zero chest development since I quit bodybuilding in early 2020. For me, nothing works like a good chest press, and I just don’t have the stuff around to do that as easily as weighted squats. (Pick something up, squat. You’re done.) So there is only one place that I can be getting aching pectorals from.

    Again, it’s a different kind of development than bodybuilding. It’s less mass, less swelling. I feel like I’m developing *cables* under the skin.

    I am crocheting with a hook, creating fabrics in my hands, and somehow this is also making my body crochet muscle in this whole new fascinating functional way. I have never had a functional hobby in my life. It’s weird learning my body is meant to DO THINGS.

    Most of my core maintenance is actually using a standing desk and picking things up, which also helps my legs a bit. I’m often hauling 40lbs bags of cat litter around, which is nearly the weight of an unweighted Olympic barbell. I pick up and move a lot of plants and heavy water containers.

    Like I’m the chubbiest I’ve ever been, the most body fat no doubt, biggest dress size, but I’m kind of turning into lowkey homesteader farmb0tch strongk? Just DOING THINGS instead of sitting at a computer writing all day? WILD.

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    besties

    2023-10-27 /

    i hear people describe their spouses as their best friends all the time, but i don’t think they mean it like i do? because my spouse and i are best friends like. relentless mischief makers. second graders who live on the same street. should be supervised by taller adults most of the time kind of best friends.

    we got a halloween decoration with a glass ball on it last week. we realized that it does that thing where it captures sunlight and it gets hot. then we spent an hour in our backyard seeing how much we could set on fire using our new halloween decoration, while our 13yo stood back and said, “i don’t think this is a good idea?”

    today i rickrolled him on the stereo while he was trying to do dishes and he responded by banging the floor under our bedroom with the pole of a broom

    the other day my kid and i built a towering giant with a balloon head and big looming arms and put it on a rolling chair and stuck it in the kitchen so my spouse would be startled by it when he came home from work. and then we left it there so he would forget about it (spouse is very adhd) and get surprised by it every single time he went into the dark kitchen for something later that night. it is SO SATISFYING to hear the “ughghghgh” from the kitchen when it scares him again. (it’s still there.)

    he’s said to me before “our house should look more like a space ship” and my reply was “YES IT SHOULD” and we’ve been putting up like, random cargo nets

    we’re 35/36, for the record. lmao

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