14,889 Days Alive
4 Layers of Clothing Soaked Through Getting from My Vehicle to the Front Door
1 Spilled Cup of Slightly Splenda-Sweetened Sweet Tea
Physics defeated me this evening by reminding me that an object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon otherwise. What does that mean? My hand, and a good square foot of my bedroom carpet, got covered in diabetic-friendly sweet tea.
There are many things I could say about the South. Many of them derogatory even. But one thing I do miss is a proper sweet tea. So about two weeks ago I stopped by Woodmans to get stuff for dinner. While I was there, I was trying to find Twinning’s black currant breeze teabags. I did successfully locate them. But, I also saw the family-sized Lipton teabags. When I worked at McDonald’s, literally 21 years ago now, I loved half cut sweet tea. Full sugar tea from McDonald’s is just diabetes in a cup. But for some reason whatever brewing secret or whatever tea they use is especially delicious when you have a bad day. So I bought some Lipton teabags and used an empty Best Damn Tea jug to make unsweetened ice tea. And I have no regrets about it.
I got soaked coming home from work today. As soon as I got to the grocery store, the skies opened like someone had drawn a dagger across the bottom of the clouds. Just sheets and sheets of water pounding down. It sounded like someone hammering their fists against the roof of my vehicle. And, as is prone to happening, as soon as I got home and got out of the car, I was drenched from the walk/run from the car to the front door. Mind you, this was with groceries in both fists and my work backpack on my back. My shoes squelched, fully soaked, within the first five seconds.
On a related tangent: I really need to get a new pair of everyday sneakers for work. For some reason, work has a thing against multicolored shoes. So if I want to be able to wear tennis shoes, they have to be a solid color. Flats, since I spent so much time on my feet at work or getting up and down, are absolutely out of the question. Part of me does want to buy a pair of ridiculous rain boots, and just wear some sort of supportive shoe. I wish that there was a good shoe store around here that had something like nurse shoes. Those are always phenomenally comfy, and they have to be because nurses are incessantly on their feet.
Mental health is always a struggle around Easter for me. I never really got over my mother saying that the wrong daughter died. I don’t actually know if there is a way to get over a parent being so vitriolic that they wished you dead on more than one occasion. When she really wanted to hurt me, that’s what she say.
On the 30th of March, it was the 40th anniversary of my elder sister Valerie’s passing: Easter Sunday 1986. The loss of Valerie broke something in my mother, something loadbearing or just fundamental. I don’t know. I know that my mother held many scars emotional, physical, and mental. I don’t think she ever truly recovered from Valerie’s death. And, in my own way, I do understand. A parent having to bury their child is horrific, even if it’s for a reason, you can see coming like a congenital heart defect. Now, I have never carried a child to term; I have never given birth. But I know loss in both similar and different venues than my mother did. But I will never understand some of the things she said to me.
The year 2026 has not been kind to me so far and I am hoping that April brings gentler days, stronger successes, and more joy. I know that I have my graduation to look forward to. I am so very proud of myself. But damn do I wish that at least one of my parents was actually going to be at my college graduation. It makes me so sad to know that they won’t be there.
Anyway, I’m making myself upset. So I’m going to go read the first Stephanie Plum book written by Janet Evanovich. We might be doing a read together, my sibling Sean Michael and I.
Take your meds, folks.
Postmark Wonderland 