Welcome back to Mugwump Ramblings, the weekly dispatch from my brain’s least supervised corner. Last week, I tried to slow down. My body requested it politely, like a ghost tapping on a teacup. My brain, however, responded like a caffeinated raccoon in a thrift store: “Slow down? But I just found a sequined vest and a metaphor for intimacy!”
or something like that…
There are times when my body whispers, “Hey… you might want to slow down a smidge,” and I huff and puff and want it to define, exactly, what a smidge is. And then there are times like this one, where my body doesn’t whisper at all—it shows up wearing a bathrobe, holding a clipboard, and informing me that it has filed a complaint with HR.
I tried to rest. I really did. But my brain? My brain is a feral woodland creature who has recently discovered caffeine and intrusive thoughts. It scampers around knocking things off shelves, shouting half‑formed ideas like, “What if we reorganize the entire house?” or better yet “Let’s emotionally process the last 20 years in one afternoon while eating chips and queso!”
Outward processing Interruption…
Meanwhile, the world outside continues to behave like a malfunctioning carnival ride. Every headline feels like it was written by a raccoon with a grudge (I would know because I speak raccoon). And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, I found myself needing to say something plainly before my sometimes very random brain will let me proceed. Here goes:
I am not a supporter of the Iran war, and I am not a supporter of President Trump.
Not because I’m trying to make a grand political statement, but because clarity matters. Nuance matters. And sometimes the internet demands you declare your allegiances like you’re choosing a house in a dystopian Young Adult novel. So there it is, clean and simple, without theatrics; Trump is an evil loser. Now to the person demanding I take a position on everything, stop. Tanx.
Now, back to the absurdity.
Dan says I load a dishwasher like a drunk raccoon. What he doesn’t know is that my spirit animal is a drunk raccoon, and I take it as a compliment.
At one point this week, I tried meditating. Instead of peace, I achieved what can only be described as “an acid trip without the acid,” where I sat quietly and suddenly my imagination starts producing abstract art that looks like a colorful pulsing energy fields. Apparently I would rather look at the back of my eyelids instead of just laying there. Still kinda cool though…
Maybe I am the personification of a drunk raccoon? :::shrug shoulders:::
I also attempted to do some yardwork (another one of my happy places), which was lovely until my Chichihooa Eli and Pizzabulls Gigi decided to dig another hole and chase lizards to the detriment of a few barely hanging on potted or young plants we just planted last summer (rough Florida winter).
Then, I realized something: slowing down isn’t a moral achievement. It’s a survival tactic. And sometimes survival looks like lying on the floor eating crackers (no chips and queso in the house right now = sad) while contemplating the geopolitical landscape and my own questionable life choices.
If you’re also trying to move at the speed of moss instead of capitalism, I see, hear, heart, and celebrate you. May your week include one nap that feels like a portal, one laugh that sounds like a duck honking at God, and zero gossip wh*re pundits.
Bonus: may your week also have plenty of chips and queso available! It’s important.
Thanks for reading 🙂
→ Coming Wednesday in Wayfinder–A gentle compass for when your internal GPS is just screaming “LEFT?” and spinning in circles.
→ Coming Friday in Thrive–We’re tending to the parts of you that want to be a houseplant: low-maintenance, sun-drenched, and occasionally misted.
→ Coming Saturday in Sexplorer–Desire at a snail’s pace. Intimacy that arrives wearing fuzzy socks and asking, “Do you want to lie down and talk about feelings?”
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