Journal: February 4, 2026
Maybe next time I'll draw a little noodle.
It’s almost 7pm.
I’ve been waiting to go back to bed since 6am.
But I’m an adult with responsibilities.
I feel the hot air blowing.
My California dad reminds me it’s the Santa Ana’s rolling again.
Millie is happy napping in it. Short breaks to tackle my face and chew on my toes until I’m screaming with tickles and say, “no, no, no!”
I’m letting myself back in. Bit by bit.
It’s exhausting being another person’s full-time mirror, isn’t it?
“Oh, that’s right. I don’t have to be him. I don’t have to want the same sins.”
I imagine one day I’ll finish chelating all of the Mercury out of my cells.
Wake up bright. Buckle down. Consistently perform day in and day out.
But I can’t remember why that was ever one of my goals.
I don’t need to operate like a robot, like a man.
I can ebb and flow, as nature intended, as a woman.
What a lovely little dance through life.
Drew a little doodle.
Maybe next time I’ll draw a little noodle.
