I did another TikTok video. This time I talked about Dave’s awesomeness—and how to recognize marriage material when you see it. He showed up to our relationship with a steam cleaner, knew how to cook, and empties the dishwasher every morning. I don’t ask. He just does it.
Meanwhile, I once thought the guy living in a tiny house in the middle of the woods was a suitable partner. Dave—with his two-bedroom setup—had already made space for future me.
Anyway. I’m insecure. A little manic. Posting actual videos (like, why did I say “actual”? Of course they’re actual) is still new territory. And after a not-so-nice comment rolled in, I had to shut off the Tok, crank up the car stereo, and rock my body to some Black Eyed Peas like it was 2010.
I stayed out late—over at Anna’s house to watch Capote after a riveting (and slightly debatey) book group discussion about In Cold Blood. She made a cherry pie from fresh Rainier cherries, served basil-infused water, and pulled out rosemary bread she’d baked herself. We smeared it with a type of cheese I’d never heard of before, and I felt… spoiled.
All that to say: good pick on the book, Anna. If not for this group, In Cold Blood wouldn’t have been on my radar, and now that it is, I’m slightly obsessed—with Truman Capote, his motivations, his relationships, especially his friendship with Harper Lee, who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird.
Tomorrow’s our last hurrah at Sam’s Club. That’s right—I’m pulling the plug and taking my ball to Costco. It’s an hour longer on the commute, but I’m going to give the once-a-month grocery haul a try. I’ll bunker down my pantry like it’s March 2020 all over again. I got weirdly good at that in the early parenting days, and I have confidence I’ll knock it out of the park.
Tonight, I caught a lightning bug flickering his little butt against the window in our front door. I think he was responding to the flashing lights from the Mariners game on the TV. Here, see?
Alright, that’s it from me tonight. I’m glad you’re here. Sleep tight.
Love,
Jaclynn