I don't wanna.
Sorry for whining, kind of. *Chapter 31*
I once threw my tennis racket so hard against the driveway that it bent. It was time to come inside to do homework and I was pissed and now guilt-ridden that I’d broken my racket. I liked tennis. When I told my parents it had been run over by someone turning around in our driveway, they didn’t buy it. I became enraged. How could they not believe me? I was a good kid. I did everything right. How on EARTH could they think I’d lie to them??
I mean, I WAS lying to them BUT they SHOULD have believed ANYTHING I told them. The ridiculous lack of logic in this instance occurs to me fairly often and I find myself pondering my 11 year old self. Did I really expect my parents to accept that my racket had been run over…in our driveway…in the under 2 minutes it took me to get upset about homework and come inside?
The desperate rage is what I remember most vividly. I didn’t want to do homework. I didn’t want to come inside. I didn’t want to go to school. And I certainly didn’t want to have to pay for a new tennis racket especially since mine had just BEEN RUN OVER. It. Wasn’t. Fair.
Anyway, today I feel like throwing my tennis racket. I just stomped around the house crying (yes, crying) over the fact that I haven’t written my post yet. My feet feel barnacled, my calves are on fire and the hang-y down ball at the back of my throat itches like there’s a crunchy plastic bag around it. I’m not my best today.
I’m not my worst either. I just don’t wanna. My computer nearly crashed last week as it attempted to add one more random animal sound effect to my latest cooking video. I recorded a podcast with my boyfriend Alan this past Monday. I wore heels to a ten hour standing event yesterday and my allergies have arrived before the spring equinox.
There’s a lot of ‘shoulds’ floating around in my brain. I should go for a walk. I should do the dishes. I should put on some pants. I should plan my weekly posts better. I should take a nap. I should make a matcha. I should make more money. Should is such a slippery slope.
I should finish this post.
My doubles partner’s name was Laura. Neither of us were very good at tennis but we were both very funny fifth graders and loved to talk. We’d attempt full blown conversations with our opponents while we were in the middle of a game. Their moms would ask our moms if we could be quiet and focus. We could not. We often won purely by distracting better players into playing worse. I love thinking about that.
I don’t think I played much tennis after I ruined my racket.
I’ve started this post approximately 5 times over the past 4 days. It’s been titled, Version 9.0, Changes, Searching for Something, Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes and How to Crack an Egg. I just couldn’t seem to land the plane on any of these attempts and so decided to give myself the ‘paper’s due in an hour’ feeling and see what came out when it finally had to.
This is that. I promise you I worked really hard! I DID.
READING
Bottomless Mimosa. My friend Sarah started her Substack a little while back and I eat up her posts like candy. Her perspective on aging, on dreams, the challenges in living your truth and what that even means, ugh, I look forward to her writing every week. Absolutely go subscribe.
WATCHING
A lot of YouTube shorts of giant ships stuck in the middle of stormy waves while eery viking music plays in the background. I don’t know why or how my algorithm started serving me this content but I think my screen time went up a percentage this week because of it.
LISTENING
I’m just about to give the podcast, Three Ingredients, a try. With Nancy Silverton, Laurie Ochoa and Ruth Reichl sounds like a food industry dream AND it’s also a Substack.
I’m coming to you later than usual today. After reading this week’s essay I’m sure you’re not surprised. What a struggle. It’s been one of the most interesting components of consistency, the ebb and flow of effort. Sometimes I don’t have to try and it’s there, sometimes I’m sobbing like a child until it finally thumps out onto the page.
At my best and my worst and the moments in between, thanks for reading along. I’ll talk to you next Monday. Have an incredible week. Take your Zyrtec.
xoxo.
I feel ya. I fv¢<ing HATE allergy season in ATL!