Some people think cats can see ghosts. If ghosts are a thing and cats can see them, do they see the ghosts of all the moths and spiders they’ve killed? Is this why cats race around like mad things, to escape the hordes of vengeful dead that periodically stalk them?

I’m inclined to judge people who smell like marijuana less harshly. I’m want to race after smokers when they pass by me and tell them they reek. I wish someone had told me I smelled like an ashtray all the time. Washing your hands doesn’t help. You wear the smell nearly all the time.

If love is a funny thing shaped like a lizard that runs down your heartstrings and tickles your gizzard, then what kind of reptile is scarcity and what route does it travel?

We don’t have gizzards. We don’t have ruminant stomachs. We can’t walk, communicate, or defend ourselves at birth. As a species, we’re kind of a wash. Good thing we have family bonds and smart moments.

A scarcity mindset is obsessed with a perceived lack of something, and you can’t seem to focus on anything else, no matter how hard you try. The perception is usually false.

Regarding laundry: most of the time, cold water will get your clothes clean. You also don’t need as much soap as you think, as the sellers of soap tell you. Ditto liquid fabric softener: I dilute mine into thirds and my clothes are still soft and “April fresh.”

Use the low heat setting on the dryer. You’ll save money and energy, and your clothes will thank you. I save even more by eschewing the iron: life’s too short.

You’re allowed to have days off if you’re disabled/on disability. Even before I was on long-term disability, I struggled with feeling worthy of downtime. Perform, perfect, and earn your air. When I stopped working for other people, that tendency became worse. ^[i] I’m now obviously and demonstrably imperfect, so I’d best prove the air I use is a good investment to the world at large (who mostly don’t care).

It took a long time for me to accept that truth I flung at others with enthusiasm: you’re enough. You don’t have to prove anything to other people. Those who love you wish you well, and those who don’t, well, you know the rest.

If someone could invent an awesome (and large enough) makeup storage solution that includes spaces for brushes, sticks, and the storage nightmare that’s an eyelash curler, that’d be great. ^[ii]

One of the hardest and most valuable things you can do for someone is to listen. Don’t interrupt, don’t give advice, don’t remember that time when something similar happened to you. Listen. Empathize. Wait to speak.

People don’t say, “I’m sorry, that’s awful, what do you need?” often enough.

Too much of anything is never a good thing. A lifetime supply of some things, however, might be nice.

Is it codependency or love? That’s the problem with the internet. People read headlines and then toss around words they don’t understand like “codependent” and “socialism.” My brother thinks my relationship with my parents is codependent because we spend time together. He might be partly right but he overlooks love.

My mother told me spending more on good shoes was money well spent. She was right.

Your stomach acid is acidic. It’s referred to by those “in the know” as gastric acid and its pH of between one and three is attributed to the hydrochloric acid, sodium chloride, and potassium chloride that make it up. Gastric acid dissolves lots of stuff including metal, so stories about gum lingering in there forever are bupkis. You also won’t grow a tree if you swallow apple seeds.

Fun fact about alkaline water: gastric acid neutralizes it. Even if it didn’t, all you’d be doing is changing the pH of your urine. It’s not money well spent.

Less is never more. Sometimes less is the better choice, and sometimes less makes you appreciate things to a greater degree, but less is always less. More is more.  

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^[i] Functioning in a formal and professional work environment no longer works for my brain. It broke and I haven’t come all the way back from the nervous breakdown this time. There are some things I can no longer do, and some things that make working with other people a possibly bad idea (the PTSD that refuses to go back in the box, for example).

^[ii] I don’t have a lot of makeup in a global sense, but I have enough that storage is a pain. I’m wearing it in bits and pieces as I move away from the self-mutilation tic and the negative self-presentation that my brain likes to relish. I’m proud of myself for deciding I’m worth the effort. I’m fifty-two, so it’s been a long journey.

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Header credit: “Fruits of my labor,” by Laci Jordan.

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