I’m all in for gross things—like experiencing the orgasmic sensation that comes with the volcanic-like surfacing of deep-rooted cysts and blackheads, or the moment when metal pinchers, under a microscopic lens, pry away the flaky, sticky earwax, like a lollipop that a kid licked and left out on the counter.
I fell into a paragraph earlier, swept up by its cadence, its stream of consciousness, and right into a moment in someone’s life. “I feel seen. Lovely heart you have there. I’m happy to be cooking crab-stuffed crepes for Xmas Eve dinner for three. It’s sunny and cold and very snowy. Gorgeous. Just about to put on the inside and outside lights. Enjoying being alone in the kitchen. My favorite way to cook. After a very busy and intense couple of months work-wise, it sure is nice to have time to be domestic. ✨Sober life is still a dream sometimes, 2.5 years in. Actually, a lot of the time.”
“Miss Jaclynn, is Jesus the most specialist baby?” Little Emma asked, her doe-like eyes wide and lashes long, peering up at me with all her cuteness, her limp ponytail hanging over her shoulder. I was stumped for a moment, but then I saw Evelyn, her frozen demeanor, quiet, as if she were being sentenced and I was the judge to deliver it. I made my assessment quickly—another power struggle to see who was right. My response had to be judicial, validating both sides. “Some people think he is. And others don’t. I think it matters what you think.”
“Well, I think he is.”
“Great,” I told her. And that was that. Off they went, back to the piles of fallen trees to continue organizing bark at their play store, which once stood where our new house sits.
Last night I too liberally shaved calluses off my heels with a gadget that should be reserved for professionals. After having had it done once at a pedicure, I plugged the tool away as super cool after seeing the pile of fallen snow—or, if you prefer, wide parmesan cheese slices. Unfortunately, the $8 price tag couldn’t deter me, though I wish it had. It wasn’t until I kept going back to the same spot, scraping away more skin, that I wondered if I’d gone too far. The moment I stepped out of bed, my naked heel hitting the rough carpet with a burning sensation, I knew I had.
I want to be mad at the company, at myself, but really, I just want a pair of socks with silicone in the heel so a cooling, balmy gel can calm the constant prickly sensation.
And to end, I’m counting my weight loss in potatoes.
Love, Jaclynn and Merry Christmas to you!
Going On 40 