Dear BJ Novak and Dev Flaherty,
I wish your li.st app offered greater compatibility with non-mobile devices. What’s the technical term for computers again? I dunno, and as I said in the last post, I’m still high. Maybe it’s worn off by now. It probably has. It was only a few small puffs, an hour back, but then again, it’s 11pm and I’m about to eat Honey Nut Chex cereal, so I might still have some lingering effects. Apologies, I’m digressing a bit.
Anyway, if there was a way for me to write this post as a li.st, I would do so. But alas, it’s too complicated to figure out, and perhaps the design was intentional, so I’ll just voice my complaint here, where you may never venture. I’m pretty invisible to the Internet gods, to the point my Weed Husband once googled “high mom” only to stumble upon some filthy porn, although I suppose anything is better than cake bukaki. Again, I digress.
I want to write about the past weekend, but I don’t know if I have it in me to weave one of my long-winded, non-epic epics. So, instead, here’s a non-li.st list–to be edited, a million times, at leisure, on the comfort of my laptop–of observations, memories, quotes, etc. from my birthday weekend:
Friday, March 24
- Got a really nice card from my work peeps
- Spent most of the day feeling like shit. My boss, the Duck, refers to those head-cold viruses as “getting stupid,” and that seems accurate to me. My brain was mush. Also, I had a yeast infection.
- Yeast infections are the worst. They’re the reason I convinced myself I had AIDS from 2004-2006 (another essay for another day).
- I wanted to skip the murder mystery, but I’m glad we went. My friend Sebastian Clay was playing Inspector Something, and he bought me a ticket to accompany his girlfriend, who ended up unable to go, so Mr. D and I smoked a bowl before walking in, and I made only one faux pas (handing a used tissue to an actress; long story), and although I didn’t really understand what was going on for a good portion of the night, I had a great time.
- The setting for the murder mystery was perfect. Also, it was the venue of my first wedding, back in 2006. “We have a picture in front of this mirror,” I told Mr. D, who recalled it with full clarity.
- I told Mr. D I was feeling weird about making a big deal about my 33rd birthday. Like to even have it as a Facebook invite, as if it were a “thing,” and how I’m feeling anxious about the changes at work, and the new house (which seems almost too good to be true), and how I’m both grateful and scared.
- Sebastian said sometimes birthdays are really about marking the transitions we experience. Embrace the chaos, he said. Live in the journey.
- It was around 8:30 when Mr. D and I left the mansion. I suggested we make a night of our rare date night, possibly even seeing Get Out, which is the first movie in years I’ve wanted to watch in the theater, but I still felt like shit, and the closest showing was 10:10, so we headed instead to Target.
- I bought medicine and thought of the big pharma industry, wondering if they’re keeping us sick to keep themselves paid.
- I thought weed is powerful because it makes you think.
- I wondered if the professor is right about greater powers wanting to keep society stupid because “stupid people are easier to control.”
- I thought how most black children are taught to question everything and how that’s a good habit to instill.
- We ended up heading home, and I fell asleep early.
Saturday, March 25
- Woke up to kisses and cuddles from Mr. D. No actual D because of my period and residual infection, which, two Diflucans later, is not fully gone. What the fuck.
- Vaped some marijuana. Listened to the Eagles. Read a beautiful article from The Sun. Pooped. Talked through some of my anxiety with Mr. D as we headed to my parents to pick up the kids.
- Played hide-and-seek with Little A.
- Made witch decorations for the party that night with Big A.
- Took advantage of the gorgeous weather by going for a long walk with the family.
- Headed to my sister-in-law’s house for a party for my niece’s birthday.
- Watched the girls play sweetly together.
- Headed to my parents, drank two glasses of wine, smoked zero weed.
- Received a million hugs and kisses from my parents.
- Explained my witch theory, or attempted to, when asked.
- Said, “What does it hurt to pretend?” when articulating it to my mom, who is well versed in my work/ house anxieties, recreational pot use, writing ambitions, holiday party antics, etc. She cosigns my belief that 33 is the Age of Responsibility, perhaps more so than any of the ages before it, and believes the more gifts the universe bestows, the more you must work to be worthy of them. (“You’re a witch,” she told me, as I drove home later that night.)
- Came home and cuddled Big A until she fell asleep, while Little A snored softly in the bed beside us.
- Smoked a bowl and watched The Craft with my Weed Husband, Sebastian Clay, Mukherjee, Uncle Jack, and his friend Wyatt, while Mr. D snored softly on the couch beside us.
- Fell asleep shortly after the movie.
- Examined a surprisingly spotless Big A, who had vomited in the middle of the night before making her way to our bedroom.
- Started a load of laundry and cleaned the carpet and bedside table at 2am.
- Came back to my room and cuddled Big A.
- Worried about Round Three of the 2017 Stomach Bug before falling asleep.
Sunday, March 26
- Cuddled Big A. (Little A wandered in around 8, and nuzzled up beside Mr. D).
- Slept in as the kids watched TV downstairs.
- Headed down with laundry to fold, but instead curled up with The Sun and fell in love with the magazine’s “Readers Write” column.
- Turned off the television a few hours later and headed upstairs with the girls.
- Took a nap.
- Watched The Mindy Project while Mr. D took the girls to Costco. (It was the slime episode, which also included a scene where Mindy’s best friend complains about her husband’s toenail clippings)
- Cooked pasta and spinach while folding clothes.
- Curled on the couch with the kids after dinner.
- Bathed them, cuddled them, thanked the universe for them.
- Watched the fourth episode of This is Us with Mr. D. (The one with the pool flashback). Remembered why I had issues with the show (another essay for another day).
- As we were in bed, Mr. D obsessed over where to put his fingernail. He held it in his palm, folded like a clear rainbow, willing me to finish my water so that he could dispose of it in my bottle. I was too content to be rushed. “Don’t overthink it,” I told him. “It’s like slime.”