This weekend, a friend and I took our daughters to White Lake. I grew up going there for a week every summer — it’s a place full of so much nostalgia. Extra so, since absolutely nothing has changed in the last 30 years. Well ok, fewer people chain smoking on the beach. Also, there are now mini fridges in the motel rooms.
Hi there. It’s me, Rhiannon. I am currently super caffeinated. I am currently not super depressed. Those two things have nothing to do with each other, I just wanted to give you a head’s up about the first thing. The blog post is more about the second thing.
So, it’s teacher appreciation week. That’s basically a test for adults. And I am not nearly adulty enough to have to do specific things at specific times.
I have this recurring stress dream where my favorite band is playing in town and I don’t know it until it’s almost too late. Sometimes I miss the show, sometimes I barely make it. Sometimes I’m in my underwear. Like you do.
A couple of days ago, I was cheering to some friends that my therapist will be back from maternity leave soon. A friend responded, “Party down to sanity town!”
When I started writing more publicly late last year, I could not have foreseen just how often I would write about obsessive-compulsive disorder. But at some point in my slight breakdown after Rowan’s premature birth I completely ran out of fucks to give.