I wore short sleeved things with long cardigans pretty much all winter last year. I miss cozy sweaters but the minute I get inside somewhere I want to rip them off. Perimenopause is an asshole.

"You have a whole convent praying for you! No wonder your recovery has been so good!"

Aw, I don't know why I'm getting such warm fuzzies from this, but I am!

Also, Nilly told me she was praying for Tim, and I legitimately gasped. With the power of Nilly and a convent full of nuns, Tim was always going to have an excellent recovery.

Perimenopause is an asshole.

Nothing is more true than this.

Started masking again today. Seemed like the right time to start doing it again, or maybe even a little overdue.

I'm flying to the UK in two weeks for a work conference, and will be masked as much as possible.

Perimenopause is an asshole.

BIG MOOD.

I feel like we will never be done unpacking. Realistically, I know this is the Brain Raccoons speaking, because we've only been in the house since late December, and we HAVE been making progress. But there's still boxes in every room and ugh.

(Did I mention we moved? We did. Much better house. And it has a natural gas -powered fire pit in the backyard!!)

Amy, that is scary stuff. Hope he gets captured soon.

Just a little twinge, but there will be so many of those.

Life stitched with her absence. Had the thought this weekend, “Oh! Have to remember to call the parents.” And then realized, just the one now.

Saturday I bought two pair of Fluevogs (one practical and one fun) which was the plan as soon as I learned I was inheriting a chunk of change. I only had one pair before, motorcycle boots I got in the early 2000s; two decades is a long time to lust after shoes and not be able to afford them.

Oh, and then I went next door and found two flowy empire dresses on 75% discount, one for each pair of Fluevogs, so I am set for Caftanpooza. More set. I was already set. Also got R a cute mod dress (I think flapper and mod will be their easiest dress styles due to body shape) and a mushroom tank top.

Yay for mini-F2Fs!

After my grandmother died, we had boxes of her things (mostly antiques) in the basement for YEARS.

And, Atropa, I thought of you the other day - one of the local columnists was remembering when she was a teenager driving her friends around and the car smelled of Aquanet and clove cigarettes.

Amy, that's alarming. I'm not sure if my stories of proximity to manhunts would make things better or worse so I'll refrain. (They're probably better told orally anyway).

I read a poem last night that called an avocado the smallest unit of grief. "It's rock and ripe and gone; rock and ripe and gone." That's going to keep bouncing around in my brain for a while until I figure out how it fits into files and records.

And, Atropa, I thought of you the other day - one of the local columnists was remembering when she was a teenager driving her friends around and the car smelled of Aquanet and clove cigarettes.

Whooo, that gave me flashbacks to 1990. I should put on one of my clove cigarette perfumes.

Grief hits when it wants to hit. I used to call my Dad from my car all the time. It's been 15 years now, and I'll still go to call him at time. Usually it's bitter sweet, but sometimes I get sideswiped by it and end up sobbing while I'm sitting in LA traffic.