I woke up in a total panic this morning. I had a dream I was covered in mosquitoes, dealing with plumbers, and pooped my pants…but seemingly did not find it urgent to tend to. I like to interpret my dreams, this one I will leave alone. I do not set an alarm (bc ew) as the noise, no matter how glorious they try to make the options, always is too abrupt for me to start my day out the way I want to. Mosquitoes, plumbers, and poop worked just fine. I get up sometimes around 3 AM-4 AM to write, other times I stay up until the same range of hours writing before going to bed. I like to write in the dark and quiet. Pitch black except the glow of my screen. And now and then I catch a glimpse of stray facial hair as I look at the keys and my eyes struggle to pay attention. My mind then takes off and I contemplate how easy it would be for me to grow a beard. I notice the lines on my wrists and think damn I should not have bent them so much in my life! How could one cut back on this? Eliminate the Brads in your life. One time when I was about twenty, I started noticing the curve of a smile line on each side of my mouth. So for a good week, I put in a solid less than half-ass effort to not smile so much, drink water (ew), and eat iceberg lettuce (ew) I individually placed in portioned baggies (ew…not really, but it felt wrong without it). It may have been the following week that I ate a whole pizza and six chocolate chip cookies the size of my face while on the beach and hours later made myself vomit. Not because I was afraid of the weight gain, but because I could not stand to think of all the food sitting in my stomach as I laid in bed. I was talking to “them” in there. Like dude, I made a mistake, what are y’all doing anyway? Just lounging? Can y’all hear this music? And then I abruptly grew agitated picturing them in my body all snickering and telling each other to be quiet and not answer me. I know it sounds like a creative way to deny, but truly, it was not about the calories. The lettuce was not either, I was trying to get as much water intake as I could. What a funny and juvenile thing. Trying to avoid smile lines. I have yet to cave on Botox, in fact, the only cosmetic alteration I have had was a breast reduction when I was twenty-one. And they came back-ish. Relentless like their mother. I know my lines will come back too on my face and I will have to maintain the injections. I am just not sure I am the candidate for that. I mean, I could not even commit to not smiling for a week and that was free and there were plenty of people in my life at that time to make it easy for me not to.

The floor is always a comfortable place for me. I am the first person to take it when there are not enough seats. People start listing their ailments as to why they deserve the couch and chair and I am already grounded and recognizing I have yet to master shaving this little nook on the outside of my ankle. When I was in high school, I had this ankle-length skirt that had a slit up the side. I put my skirt on and shaved three vertical rows (obviously vertical, Britt) to cover the area that would be revealed and if I owned that skirt today, I would also do the same because…bare minimum effort when getting ready and this is still what tells me I am not ready for Botox responsibilities. I am going to have to just smile less. Sitting on the floor seems to kind of recalibrate my body if you will. When my back hurts or I just feel a little wonky, I like to just go lay down on a rug. At first, it can feel the opposite of what I need, but then as I just continue to lie there and breathe, consciously telling my shoulders to drop and the tension I carry to go take a smoke break, fuck off, or something of the like, everything falls and meets the ground. And it feels right. We should spend more time on the floor and smile less. Then I won’t have to open the door when you come over and we can avoid the hug panic. When I was eight, I broke my tailbone on one of those vicious slides at the county fair. To this day, if I do not arch my back just right while sitting, that little booger reminds me of what my competitive bones have cost me. I will take a trophy home any day for anything. “Anything? Anything.” Cat in the Hat reference…another favorite movie. Yes, I have horrible taste in movies and music. So there is no competition there but I am always down. It takes one look, that special one that says “game on” and I am ready to bleed for victory. That also includes standing up for what I think is right, and not just for myself, in fact, a significant amount less for myself. I cannot stand watching someone go through something they do not deserve or being told to do something a certain way because it is just how it is or whatever. When clearly it is not so. And I will say something in whichever way best fits the mood, people involved, etc. I actually do not like confrontation and feel it is avoidable with a conversation mutually sprinkled with sarcasm and truth but if the other is unwilling I can switch modes and fulfill the one they already think I am. My lightheartedness, anxiety, and brushing off most of what you say as “you just don’t know better” should not be confused with I will take this shit forever. It does not always make me a very popular candidate and I have had cowards then deny me after to avoid repercussions in their employment, friendships, relationships, etc. but it has always served in self-respect, and that good ole terribly named cat sleep I have mastered. I am a person who will not rest well if I do not do what I know I could have for someone or in a situation. I think most people are like this. But I think often, the majority get caught in the risk vs the reward. Survival. For me, the risk is the whole “room” hates me, and the reward is I stayed true to myself. I can survive not being liked. I am talking about both little and big things here but noticeable in either regard. The shit we should not look past or accept. The boss who pretends he empowers women but is belittling them behind the scenes. The person who was there first but someone else accepted being served ahead of them. The kid who is crying out for help and calling it something new. And the twenty-year-old who is eating iceberg lettuce and trying not to smile as much because she is afraid her smile lines will make her not worthy when what she failed to know was they in fact were part of her highest value.

I took a little walk to the kitchen to warm my coffee up and just like most of the time I could not just walk my way across the house. There is always some little dance, song, and shake because inevitably I see a dog. When I got to the kitchen I noticed the potatoes were still in the bag and not just sitting in the bowl so I took them out of the bag because that is what matters most at 4:32 AM…potatoes. Man, one time we were watching a home buying show and side note you will never see a TV without captions on in my house, I am a lip reader in real life and need help with the people on TV too but sometimes I catch what they don’t put in captions. I also like to critique the caption writers. Like ummmm no, that is not what they said. Of course, I am right. But one time there was a lady who at the end of the show when they follow up with the family and see how they are enjoying the home “three months later” and of course, they always have some group of random people over or family (same thing) and they’re cooking and laughing and its all so pleasantly awkward…anyway, they were putting some variation of potatoes out on the counter and this woman somehow managed to get real close to her mic off camera and whispered “potato” in this hilarious voice. And I caught it and spent the next “three” months just rewinding it over and over to hear it as many times as I could. So now when I say potato(es), I remember this magic moment that did not make it into the captions and I honor it by repeating it for her. Back to my point…I was in the kitchen emptying the potatoes, potato (hilarious voiced whisper) and it dawned on me, that after I had the twins I had a tummy tuck. Like absolutely forgot. So I needed to come clean thus I ran/danced/shook my way back to my laptop as fast as I could with only one dog ear touched and told you the truth I failed to include earlier. I had it almost right at a year post-c-section for my twins. What started as a muscle repair ended in the most grueling recovery that I would hands down endure again. The c-section was no easy feat either and lord did I face some serious scrutiny when I opted out of breastfeeding and a vaginal birth even before I knew I was having twins. In fact, one OB who I was “interviewing” asked my then-husband to step out of the room so she could talk with me. She thought this was his request. Hah! Opposite. It bothered him when I told him this was absolutely how it was going to go and that I would not even listen to anyone who wanted to tell me otherwise. Imagine that. But also, it went that way. Imagine that. I had to find an OB who was willing to accept my terms for my pregnancy. Insane to type that out because it seems given, but it was not. But I did find her and she was flummoxed that I was even saying it like it wasn’t of course how it was going to go because all it needed to be was my decision. Regardless of why. She taught me a lot that day and throughout my pregnancy. She also was the first person I called when I did not feel right in my first few days home and postpartum depression was starting to take over me. She was someone who stood up for what was right, someone who I knew would not bs me, someone who saved my sons’ lives throughout a very difficult pregnancy, and someone who helped me to save my own. Magical things happen when two people who are true to themselves come together, kinda like my boobs I suppose. They stayed true to themselves and like magic, they made a comeback together.