If you’d told me at 16 that I’d be sitting cross-legged on my butt, picking rabbit turds out of a litter box, I’d have told you to kick rocks. But, oh, how those Miracle-Gro-like turds will give my yard’s greens a robust boost when the time is right.
Dang those mannequin legs—I can’t find them anywhere. You see, I send my sister-in-law weird things I see on Facebook Marketplace. Like a dozen basketball-court-length church pews. “Let’s just put them in the field,” I told her. The field between our houses would make a great fast-food wedding spot. I’m still not sure what to do with the mannequin legs, though. Maybe I’ll sneak over to her house and pose them like they’re walking up her sidewalk. The problem is, I’d probably wake up one morning to find them in some random spot, and that’s a surprise I’m not sure I’m ready for.
My mom’s side of the family owned a creepy, three-foot-tall, green-suited, long-haired Santa Claus creature. Sometimes it’d mysteriously show up in a family member’s shower, peeking through a front or side window, or even perched on the roof. Very unsettling.
I updated my virtual reality headset today and sat in on a Texas Hold ’em poker game. After sitting in on a few hands, I relaxed, getting in the flow of paying attention to my position to the button, and selecting good cards. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy poker, specifically the meditative calm my body falls into. I had such a good time, I invited my best friend Kristen to play tomorrow. And she’s game.
Alright, it’s far too late. And I still need to do my nightly hygiene dances.
Thanks for being here! Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 