I’m trying to think of anxiety as a game. Maybe like one of those games that you pass around and it gives you an electric shock at a random time. It’s just a bad feeling. It will one day be over. Meanwhile, it’s a part of being human. So let’s make a list. I like lists.

Results of losing:

The shock game: you get a shock.

Poker: you lose your money or physical possessions.

Egyptian Ratscrew: You get very sad, and a stinging hand.

Sorry: Nothing. It’s Sorry.

Chess: an inferiority complex.

The Anxiety Game: Your chest gets tight, everything gets heavy, the Present is whisked away and the vacuum is quickly replaced by the past and future. Your body feels like it’s been replaced by 20-year-old Icy Hot, and moving becomes gross. And then the thinking starts.

So maybe it’s a game. A miserable, horrible self-loathing loss that can last a few minutes or a few years. And you’re always playing.

But right now, I am winning. I hope you are, too.

Dear Jeff, Dick, and Elon,

I support you. Go to space. But please, don’t come back.

Maybe without you here, we can actually fix our problems.

“There is enough to support everyone’s need, but not everyone’s greed.” -Ghandi

Go take a look on my voiceover page! I’m especially proud of my animation one. Now I shall send them to Every Agent In The US.

My friend Hazel and I decided that we needed to get out of town last year. So we found a [really] little cabin and went there. 3 adults, 2 kids, 1 dog. And it was so great, we did it better this time. 6 days in Lake Geneva. 6 adults, 3 kids, 4 dogs, and a cat.

Adam and I are both introverts, and so is one of our dogs. Our house is often very quiet. We are not used to lots of people. It’s possible we talk to the dogs more than to each other. (Fact check: false.) So going to a house with two other families is not what we’re used to, and it is a wonderful vacation from our lives. There is always something going on. It is loud, fun, rambunctious, and stressful. We love it for a week.

It makes us wonder, should we have had kids?

Yes. And no. I’m sure if we had any kids, we would be overcome with love and wouldn’t be able to imagine life without them.

But I’m just saying–we came home and packed 5 days of sleeping into an afternoon, and it was glorious.

“I’ve got 99 uses, but the trash ain’t one.” -Jewel grocery bags  

Okay. Let’s think about this. Really? 99? I’m willing to bet I’m as creative as the ad agency on this one, yet, I can’t possibly think of 99 uses for a heavy plastic bag. But damn if I’m not gonna try.

1. To put stuff in.
2. To wear when pants are torn, a la Linda from Bob’s Burgers.
3. To wear on head to keep hair dry in pool, like the crazy lady who taught with me my first year at the J.
4. On that note, to suffocate people with. (We were always a little worried when that lady put her hair up, because she started with it over her whole face.)
5. To line ice chests that have been in the basement so you can procrastinate washing them.
6. I suppose if there are enough of them, they could be a pillow.
7. Or a blanket.
8. Sleeping bag for Barbie.
9. Yard waste bag for Barbie.
10. House for Hard Times Barbie™
11. Musical instrument!
12. Food plates/bowls?
13. Barf bag.
14. Dry erase board

You know what? I’m going to stop there. These are not good reasons, and I could probably think of more dumb reasons, so I’ll give it to them. However, I’m going to revise their statement:

“I’ve got 99 uses, if you really reach, and the trash is probably one of the better ones, but please recycle instead. Yay bags!”

But I can see why they went with the former.

I’m not much for clothes shopping. When I see multiples of something on a rack, it doesn’t do it for me. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, you might say. Where’s the thrill of the hunt? And don’t get me started on pants. Except for some jeans, there is no immediate gratification unless your height and weight are what the brands think they should be. It’s not like:

[excitedly] These pants are amazing! I’ll wear them today!”

but more of:

[irritable after looking at all the pants in the store] These pants are not ugly. If I get them, I can alter them this weekend. Or not. I might not have time. I might not feel like it. Guess I could wear my big boots, so they bunch up. That might work.

Only–happy ending–the pandemic has taught us that “pants” are not required. At least, not in my line of work.

But yeah. Shooting fish in a barrel….Let’s not shoot fish. Let’s shoot apples.

Like shooting apples in a barrel.

Unless! you go to the thrift store. Sometimes you end up with the perfect pants. You just do. And it’s much more of a rush, because you know that it was Meant To Be.

So today, I went to the thrift store. I was on a quest. The art project that is percolating in my brain is a funeral scene, so I am on the lookout for little people to be mourners. After I took a moment of silence for Uncle Fun (where they had all kinds of tiny people, animals, random everything in about 65 drawers all over the store), I went in. And I came out with:

WOWmazing GIANT Bubble Concentrate

Push pins that look like fluorescent earplugs (but don’t worry–the pin would stick OUT of your ear)

“Amigo Bands” (is that racist? probably.) I mean, a kit with beads and cord to make leather/vinyl bracelets

A picture frame that is close enough to the right size for what I need

Ski goggles that I realized were ripped up crap, after I bought them. Eh, can’t win ’em all.

4 oz of glass seed beads

And a box of small fake food! I’ve always wanted a box of small fake food. Mine is labeled as “mini brands” and I have Hostess cupcakes, Smarties, Skintimate Shave Gel, Pez, 2 Skippy PBs, Warheads, and Spam. I am. WAY. too excited about these.

And yet, no tiny people. But I guess I do have all the refreshments for the funeral, so that’s something.

*Post-vacation update:

1. Went into store.
2. Found perfect pants.
3. Saw that they were 5 inches too long.
4. Was irate and left.

Guess I’ll have to learn how to use a sewing machine. Stay tuned to see how THAT goes.

I finished Sins of the Mother before LA, and not having a book to narrate is leaving me antsy. But I did send letters and demos to all the publishers Carol* suggested to me, even the ones who didn’t ask. Even the ones whose other narrators’ bios were all about going to Juilliard and being on Broadway and voicing ten thousand books so far and performing at Live Aid and saving the Earth from an asteroid and curing douchebag.

Remember to keep your pets safe tonight. If you have no pets, do all the fireworks tonight so we can all move on with our lives. Watch your fingers.

*Carol Monda, a rock star and my narration coach.

Google says the opposite of a regret is satisfaction, happiness. Screw that, I’m going with terger.

My terger today is that I reordered the demo so that after the toilet paper, I’m a kid. That should fix it.

And declaring a new word is all the work I’m willing to do today.