Reporting live from the ha ha hot bath. Lavender essential oil, frankincense, and Epsom salt.
I need to be nicer to the dog, I told Tomar. Tomar is a skater. I’ve been working on his dreads for a year. Tightening tightening tightening. I like doing hair.
A teaspoon of splah about having skills and not using them. Like why’d I go to law school and choose not to practice.
You know when they say: The customer is always right?
Well. The little inner voice is always right.
“You always have that fear. It’s part of the hero’s journey. It’s the dark side.” Says mushroom guru Paul Stametz on an old episode of Joe Rogan.
After I wrote about college being a scam, my friend Clark the retired shrink who owns the yoga studio said everything eventually is a scam: school, yoga, psychology. So then what, I said. He said did you move and speak with loving kindness?
My mom grew plants. A garden. Mulch. Black eyed Susan’s. Basil. Day lilies.
Am I beginning over with a new career in plant medicine? On the 30th, I’m meeting a mushroom grower for Day 1 of an internship.
Kate is taking the baby and the dog for a walk. The neighbor lady came over and asked us annoying questions about our move and looked at the different rooms in the house. We’re trying to pack lady, get the hell out the house. We’ve had the last 11 months to willy nilly chit chat. I said Kate the phone is for you and held her phone in midair. The lady kept talking. Like she knew I was full of shit.
We’re all full of shit to some degree. I try not to be. But I’m still taping shut cardboard boxes full of my shoes and sandals and off day running shoes and minimalist running shoes and off day sandals and work shoes and somebody else’s shoes they were getting rid of and I’m like ooh Crocs gimme gimme. So much for minimalism. It’s like that with all the boxes.
It’s important not to take your life story too fucking seriously.