You will not catch me jamming my bare tootsies into the dark bowels of a tennis shoe or boot. Not in this humid countryside. This place is a menagerie—a loving bosom of invitation for frogs, crickets, spiders, and whatever else wants a ride. Just the other day, I flipped the porch rug and found three boring beetles the size of my big toe, smashed and flattened like pressed tortillas.
In bed, I’m paranoid. In shoes, I’m paranoid. Even riding in our open-air, shieldless golf cart, I’m paranoid. The bugs here are bigger and badder than anything I’ve encountered in my 43 years on this planet. Ticks, I’ve learned, leap. I heard of a video of someone wrapping tape—sticky side out—around their pant legs. The results? Dozens of ticks stuck like confetti to a streamer.
I still get the heebie-jeebies thinking about the black, pencil-tip-thick strand I found sticking out of Evelyn’s precious, fair-skinned neck. No red ring of doom appeared, thank goodness. But I know two people who weren’t so lucky with ticks—my uncle lost muscle mass in his glute like it Houdini’d right out of him, and another can no longer eat red meat. So yeah, I’m what you might call rightfully neurotic.
After two cake days and a brownie day in succession—and a scale that refused to budge—I’m now 24 hours into a fast, aiming for 36. As you know, it’s not just for weight management but also to give my digestive system a break and kick my body’s repair system into gear. That’s the highly scientific explanation, of course.
And still—I’ve been productive! I blew the leaves off the driveway, porch, and pool deck right before a storm cracked a limb and splattered them all over again. You see why I can’t have nice things?
Oh! I remembered what I wanted to tell you—before fasting took over all mental bandwidth. My friend recently had both a colonoscopy and endoscopy, and hearing her recount how miserable the no eating prep was, I figured a little voluntary fasting now and then might help build up my tolerance. Future Jaclynn who fasts for a medical procedure, might just thank me.
Speaking of future Jaclynn, I’ve also been working on my balance. In the office before sessions, on my yoga mat, in the kitchen while toast is toasting—I lift a foot and hold it. Then I switch. I squat and lunge while I do it. I also point one hand forward and kick the opposite leg back like I’m starring in some interpretive dance. I wobble. I fall. I do it again.
It’s a challenge I actually enjoy, and a gift I hope I’m giving myself, to avoid falls later from a surprise imbalance or sudden misstep.
Between the disciplines of writing, Spanish, fasting, and physical balance, I saw a meme that stuck with me: something about how the things you do today are building the person you’ll be tomorrow. And I felt it. A real thank-you to myself—for all the little changes and consistent effort. Because it’s so much easier to keep going than to start over.
So I’ll keep chugging.
Sending love—like a bug zapper, but softer.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 