It’s finally Friday.
Y’all can I get an amen from the choir?
This work week has lasted approximately eleven days. People have been out, people have been let go, clients need everything rightthissecond, and I’m just trying to not shove my face into a plate of nachos and drown in delicious misery.
That actually doesn’t at all sound miserable, but I’m being “healthy” and shit, soooo whatever.
Here’s some stuff I wrote this week:
Rearranging furniture as a form of therapy
Scattered thoughts about my sleeping positions and cultivating mass
Here’s some stuff that other people did that I think you should look at:
// Eight Things I Hate about HGTV. Hardwood under every carpet, tiny house hunters wanting “more space,” and this gem about Fixer Upper that nearly made me pee my pants:
According to Chip and Jo, the little shire of Waco is a slice of heaven, where ex-fraternity and sorority members from Baylor join megachurches and have kids with names like Shepherd and Cooper and Flannel. Where everyone drives a Suburban while sipping coffee from their Yeti or RTIC tumbler. Where your Labrador retriever can frolic with your neighbor’s Labrador retriever, while you both knowingly blame Donald Trump’s struggles on Obama.
I’ve been to Waco. It reminds me of the time I had a colonoscopy: weird and unpleasant, until I was “medicated” enough to stop caring.
They are right, there are plenty of opportunities to live out your 26-year-old former Texas fraternity boy dreams. Chances are, you’ll find a couple who looks just like you, drives a Tahoe just like yours, who thinks school vouchers are the solution to our education problems just like you do. You can all chat about it at one of the 7,000 Baptist churches in town.
Oh, and if you’re looking for diversity, be warned: Jo is one of only three Asian people in Waco. No. 2 is her mother. No. 3 is a physics professor at Baylor. Everyone else is Chip.
// This piece about checking your expectations. Each thing that comes your way is given its status, as blessing or tragedy, by your expectations. So, the next time you’re pissed off, envious, sad, or even elated, check in with what you expected and remember, you are entitled to nothing.
// The Lawyer, the Addict. I’ve talked before about lawyers and their predispositions to addiction. In fact, during orientation before my first year of law school, we had an entire seminar on addiction and the resources available to us (Arkansas lawyers, law students and judges: you can go here for help). The lawyer’s ex-wife, the woman who wrote the article, said, “Perhaps the arrogance that grows from a profession in which your advice is worth $600 an hour is what allowed him to believe he didn’t need to ask for help, that he could kick this on his own. Just another item on his lengthy to-do list.” She’s right. It’s easy to believe we can fix everything. After all, that is what we are paid to do.
// I am not Mrs. Putnam. I am Amelia Earhart. Amelia Earhart was a badass, and she was a feminist ahead of her time. I want to print this letter and hang it in my office.
// The men who never have to grow up. An indictment of the Peter Pan mentality that seems to plague upper class white men. If boys will be boys, then girls must be grownups. God bless racism, sexism, and all the privileged folks that swear it doesn’t exist, even though they have benefited from it since birth.
This weekend, I plan to do the following:
- Pick up my house
- Sit at the pool + read
- Do nothing
Glorious, isn’t it? Since I’ll be out of town the next three weekends for either baby showers or family stuff, I’d like to enjoy being home while still doing something other than binge-watching nineteen episodes of Beat Bobby Flay that I’ve already seen twice. The city of Rogers is showing The Sandlot tonight on the square, so I’ll definitely be there with my blanket and some snacks. Hopefully I can finish my work in time to enjoy it.
Killin’ me, Smalls.