Welcome to Missouri: We’re Open.

One of the songs, after Kenny Rogers stuff, that I’ve loved the longest.

May the Fourth be with us all today, as the statewide “Open” sign is back on and people are leaving their homes.

I am among those people, in that I am driving straight to my son’s house, (provided my car starts and is up to the challenge of actually moving). I started to go grab some food to take with me this week as we prepare delightful and not-at-all-destructive dishes as a family, but upon arriving to the parking lot I saw that 1) I forgot my mask and 2) there were a lot of other people who looked as though they had also forgotten their masks, so I decided not to go inside after all.

I’m just not ready to assume my life as it was, is kind of what I’m getting at here. I signed up for Beachbody on Demand and started that today, I loaded up on my vanilla Ka’Chava superfood supply (I love this stuff, especially mixed with oats, a serving of blueberries, and Jordan skinny syrup), and last but not least but definitely most devastatingly, I tried to put on jeans today.

It hurt a lot in every sense: physically, mentally, and emotionally. But it needed to be done. While my job isn’t really a thing for another four to six weeks, I also really don’t want to blow my first paycheck on bigger clothes. Who does, amirite!? So I think I’m going to do the responsible thing and start trying to wear real clothes for a small-but-gradually-larger amount of time every day.

The only other thing I’ve really got happening is my night life. By night life, I mean my active dream life since I got these new Sleep Well gummies to wean Josh and I off of what had become a pretty bad dependency on diphenhydramine. It only kinda worked, and I notice that it gives me body aches that then lead me to take an arthritis-strength acetaminophen, and anyway the whole thing smacked of drug dependency. So I got these gummies (5mg of Melatonin, but then also some chamomile and something else I can’t remember and am too lazy to look up) and promptly took three of them.

And then a series of events began that’s made sleepy time a real adventure these past couple of nights.

The first night, I was convinced that Josh was hiding in the office and trying to pop around the door to scare me, like a weird game of peek-a-boo. At the same time, I thought I had removed the entire contents of a jar of peanut butter and was somehow holding this miraculously-still-jar-shaped mass, which was rapidly devolving into a blob-shaped mass and dripping on my shirt. I was also sleep-talking, asking Josh if he was in the office (he was in the recliner literally right next to where I was on the couch).

There was no peanut butter, thankfully.

Then, when I fell all the way asleep, I dreamt that I had gotten mixed up in a cult with a mission based neither in religion nor government conspiracies, but before I could find out what the hell we were so angry about, the violence started and I pretended to be dead under a pile of cardboard for days and then almost did die.

Guys, none of that actually happened, so big relief all the way around, but the weird part, both the first and second nights (I took two on night two, the recommended dosage), was that I have continued to dream the same narrative after waking up to go to the bathroom every time.

The point is, nighttime is fascinating now, and I’m all about it. Try those gummies if you want to feel like you’re on drugs without doing anything illegal or (hopefully, it’s early yet) dangerous.

And! Today’s movie is Gods and Monsters (Amazon). I had not watched it completely, and I’m glad I did. It really made me research James Whale and George Cukor. Damn, what a story! And it’s even partially true.

Today’s show is Upload, the new Amazon series. We binge-watched the whole first season yesterday, and I really liked it. The idea is that people upload themselves to alternate worlds upon death, and while their bodies are still totally dead, they have avatars that are like the version of themselves they most like. Hijinks ensue.

Today’s song is above, Popcorn, by Hot Butter. This was the first 45 record I ever owned after my first grade music teacher, Mrs. Ball, played it for us in class and I pestered my parents until they found a copy for me (no easy feat in 1981 Nevada). I really want a group of children to do an interpretive dance of this song at my funeral, not that I’ll be there.

I’ll be uploaded and shit probably.


I start every day vowing to become healthier and end every day by zeroing out my fridge.
That's the kind of self-sabotage that forms the core of my being.
You know what I'm good at, though? Spinning words into a magical skein that envelopes you in success. Let's talk about that first, and if snacks end up happening, so be it.

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