Why couldn’t baking powder and baking soda be named something like peanut butter and jelly? Different. Distinct. Impossible to confuse and accidentally sabotage a muffin recipe.
This is a remembered 3 a.m. thought, where solutions to the world’s problems are available like Hot-N-Ready pizzas at Little Caesars.
That pizza reference is likely because ten stacked boxes of those buggers showed up at the community pool I was at today.
For a quarter, I could win Crazy Bread at the Little Caesars in my hometown. Being sixteen years old and living off handouts from my parents, I appreciated the memory game—think Simon, repeating back the color pattern—and how savory the victory felt as I stuffed my face with the prize.
I feel disconnected from who I was becoming.
The injury in my quadricep paused the gains I was making with running. Its daily pings—like earlier when I fielded balls and played catch, or when I absorbed the impact of jumping into the pool and pushing off the bottom—flip a switch on a feeling I can’t quite describe.
It’s a mix of disgust, sadness, and overwhelm.
Part of me says, Who cares? Start running again.
Another part says we already tried that, and it failed miserably.
Everything about this feels too hard. Impossible. Like a no-win situation.
And yet another part says people take breaks. They heal. This is normal.
What I want is permission. To do one thing or the other. And whichever path I choose, I want to do it with complete reckless abandon.
Instead, I just feel funky.
And not the take-me-out-to-a-blues-club kind of funky.
Lastly, I overfilled my social battery. As much as I wish I could store that extra social energy in a canteen in the fridge for later, that’s not how it works. What actually happens is that my alone time gets depleted.
The mini sweet potato bed didn’t get planted. Neither did the beans, arugula, or carrots.
I hope this doesn’t sound like complaining, because it’s not. I understand there’s a cost. Sacrifices come with the territory of living a full life.
I’m just taking a moment to notice.
And that’s what I’ve got.
I hope you’re doing well.
Love,
Jaclynn
PS This post’s photo is of a rattlesnake our neighbor killed. It was longer than Evelyn! And had 14 rattles.
