The more sugary the cereal, the more I loved it as a kid. Chocolate! I’m a ’90s kid, so mornings with Count Chocula, Cookie Crisp, and Cocoa Krispies felt like early school release days to go to the State Fair.
Watching the hand vaccum slurp up our bunny’s turds—their swirling like chocolate Kix in a mini tornado—I pictured one of those money machines where the wind blows at 80mph and the contestant ends up with nothing but frustration.
I take back what I said about him pooping in a designated spot and doing so infrequently. He drops dump truck-sized loads wherever the hell he pleases. His two-room back porch domain will soon be reduced to a much smaller area with a litter box—paper chunk filler en route from the pet website Chewy. Archie’s dog food is in that order, too. Anything for free shipping.
A Consumer Reports magazine listing with the best and worst new and used cars is nearby. Info on MPG and electric vehicles is padding our minds with ideas, most of them too extravagant to go through with. The Ariya looks slick, but Dave’s idea to test drive one today—an hour and a half away—was quickly shot down by me. We’re in no hurry, especially since we’re borrowing his parents RAV4.
If we do drive to Newnan, Georgia—a squiggly line northwest of here—I’d like to make a day of it. Maybe hit a water park or go on an adventure. A quick Google search turned up a huge park with a splash pad and a castle playground that might do the trick. Perhaps a picnic lunch, with all the fixings for a good time: water guns, a soccer ball.
Often, at the start of a paragraph, I ask myself what small thing I could do for my mental health. And when nothing comes to mind, pressure rises—like a headmistress slapping a ruler on a desk. “Tell me!”
I don’t know. I honestly don’t.
Aren’t I doing well enough?
This constant idea that we should always be better, do more, add another metric to track—it’s exhausting. And frankly, not always helpful.
It may be contributing to this riding the edge of a too-curved, sparking metal track feeling. The one that makes me want to throw in the towel instead of bob at the top of my stress threshold. I haven’t liked myself much today, especially because I’ve irritable with anyone who gets too close to me.
Except bunny, of couse.
I’m lying on my stomach on the carpet, two feet away from Puffy, who’s also belly-down with his back feet kicked out. He got whoofed at by Archie, who has instantly gone from uninterested in his kibble to guarding it. My earlier worries about the dog bunny pet combo have cleared, and in it’s place is a curiosity at just how great of friends they’ll end up being.
Stay tuned, Animal Odd Couples may be calling us yet.
Good night and take care. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 