Big props to the Omicron variant for refreshing my anxiety/phobia/fury at people who wear masks beneath their noses. I plan to distract myself from this new microbial purgatory with a host of habits/skills/interests I’ve acquired during the pandemy:
The compulsive acquisition and propagation of a rather large assortment of houseplants. These remain unkilled at the time of this writing, which is nothing short of a miracle. Although I feel like I’m teetering between a hobby and an obsession. Where is the line? (Photographic evidence to follow.)
Reaching Expert+ level on Beatsaber. I am alone on this journey. Please DM me on my regular Insta if you’d like to join a multiplayer room. I’m serious.
A fresh addiction to TikTok. I won’t go into the myriad ways I ingest content on this platform, but I’ve also begun experimenting with content generation. No idea why. Blame the ‘rona.
Some new fitness certifications. In addition to being a
Yoga Alliance registered E-RYT® 200, I’m now a Certified Personal Trainer through NASM® and an official SPINNING® instructor. I wanna start a private training group geared toward writers and folks in the industry. DM me on my fitness Insta if you’re in interested.
I won’t discuss my towering stack of less-wholesome pursuits because I value your esteem. Instead, here’s a butt-ton of plants I haven’t murdered yet:
Ok so I suppose this goes on the list of problematic time-consuming hobbies I take on when I become paralyzed with fear about writing or not-writing or writing badly, but I started a publishing company. I’m doing a super-slow roll-out because it’s just me and I’m learning as I go, but for now here’s the inaugural book/play:
You can buy it here, although you might be one of the lucky ones to receive a copy without a title on the spine. I’m fixing that. In the meantime, you can do like I did and personalize your copy:
Eventually I will have other titles by other people, though I have to make a mess of my own stuff first before I can feel good about inviting other writers in. Also, this seems like a totally impossible endeavor, so who knows how it will actually pan out. But it’s definitely been an interesting process so far. Stay tuned…
I was thinking about you the other day. Are you still doing that thing with your mouth/nose/eye/throat/leg? It used to bother me but you’re the only person I know who does it. Ergo, it makes you special.
I like that.
How is your brother/dog/boss/doula/therapist/lower back? Did you have a good time at the game/on the cruise/in the bayou/below the equator? I hope it wasn’t too hot/cold/dry/wet/inconvenient/inconsiderate/inappropriate.
I’m still here. Working on that play/movie/TV show/relationship/habit I told you about. Oh! I built something. A gate. For a friend. I can’t shut the fuck up about it. It’s white and self-closing and has a cute black latch. I made it out of slats of wood I pulled from an unused door that’s been propped against my fence since we moved in. I always hoped I’d find a use for it. It’s a relief, actually. Like I’ve been staring at a crooked picture on the wall for years and years and finally decided to straighten it.
Or maybe the picture was straight and I made it crooked.
Either way. Something is different than it was.
My hands are idle again though. Which means my brain is speeding. I gotta slow it down. Do you have something I could build? What about a bridge made of pencils? I have wood glue. I know how to layer the shafts so they’ll be stable underfoot. I can attach one end to my bedroom window and the other to your mouth. Then I won’t have to ask how you are. I’ll just tumble along in my pajamas one night and land at your lips, right when you’re telling Joey/Shira/Birgit/Morgan/Pete/Kayla/Lei/Omar about that dream you had. The one with the sirens.