the granola of it all
thrift store flow state, tiktok sound psychosis, & breaking my own rules
i guess third time’s the charm when it comes to winter. the first one was a novelty. the second one was hell (literally frozen over). the third has been survivable, if not actually sort of enjoyable. i’m describing this as if i am three years old because before i moved to utah, i experienced nothing that could be accurately dubbed winter. february was for japanese magnolias, not existential dread. it’s all been a bit of an adjustment.
having finished the existing ACOTAR books, i’ve moved on to throne of glass, another romantasy series by the same author, sarah j. maas. unlike ACOTAR, the emphasis is on -antasy rather than roman-. this weekend, with my it’s-winter-what-else-is-there-to-do excuse readied like a weapon to be drawn at the mere whisper of a challenge, i finished the first book, then read the entire second book and a quarter of the third.
how is it, you ask? well, i’m writing this blog article rather begrudgingly. no offense. i’m dying to get back to it. it’s an eight book series and there’s not much time left until spring.
there’s not much time left until spring!
i’m in a cheeky mood (stoned) so you can’t smell the PMDD, for which the only known cure is facetiming your sister on the way home from the thrift store. i saw a tiktok that was like “can you imagine having a sister? it’s like a built-in best friend!” and because we’re only 19 months apart, and she is decidedly not insufferable, it is very much like that. i am never ungrateful. if not only because she remembers bizarre moments from our childhood for the both of us.
today at savers i tapped the thrift store flow state, which is the meditative, trance-like experience of accessing an infinite well of patience and sharpened intuition while combing through an entire secondhand shop, hanger by hanger. it’s not often i’m stable or unstable enough to descend to this depth. i walked out of there feeling like i’d done hours of breathwork.
halfway through the small and medium sweaters rack, they played “funny how time slips away” by willie nelson. i relaxed into the comforting, bluesy twang of that guitar, realizing it sounded a bit more familiar than usual.
a tiktok sound. of course! how thoroughly have we debased ourselves that i am reduced to calling a timelessly genius willie nelson tune a tiktok sound? how concerning is it that i’ve mentioned tiktok twice now in the last four paragraphs?
i winced, tensed – the way i only do when i hear platform-specific music out of context. twenty or so seconds later, i heaved a relieved sigh as the portion of the song my brain mindlessly recalled from my feed had elapsed, and i was free to enjoy the rest of the verses, which have remained unscathed by nostalgic photo carousels.
i’m not a hater, but i have to laugh (to avoid crying) when i sense the tangible places where the hands of my cyborg life have re-sculpted my brain. when i feel my thumb reach for the instagram app first thing upon unlocking my phone. when i leave the whole thing at home for my walk around the block, then spend the first four minutes of my “relaxing” stroll trying not to be anxious about its absence.
okay, enough with the tech lament. it’s nothing you and i haven’t heard before, though the plague of the internet never seems to relinquish its grip on conversational relevance.
🎵 and when i grow up, i’m gonna look up
from my phone and see my life 🎶
i keep reminding myself that when i don’t journal, which is a very good thing to do instead of being on my phone, i’m depriving future me of the opportunity to mercilessly ridicule present me. how could i do that to her? i better get to scribbling about my meals and the weather, because that’s all i can think to have thoughts about these days. that, and my many fictional boyfriends, who are now too numerous and powerful and devilishly handsome to detail succinctly.
i went to the winter farmer’s market and nothing looked very enticing, save a small bundle of rainbow chard and a bag of spicy greens. i was dramatically overdressed in my plaid skirt and fur coat, but no one seemed to notice, absorbed in the granola of it all.
i’ve stopped punishing myself with “no tomatoes until summer.” there’s something about their sweet acidity that almost simulates the sun. sure, i have to buy them from trader joe’s. so?
who do you think does more climate damage: taylor swift or big tomato?
if no one’s told you before, babe, you can’t have it all. what i can have is tomatoes. i’m not waiting for summer to be in love.
obsession of the week
the “weathering work” write-up from sunday’s
. kyle fitzpatrick is an incredibly thoughtful writer capable of such nuanced takes (rare), and i trust his critical analyses with my contemporary life.
The only time I experience flow state
so true abt the sister, older sisters cure everything, a phone call where she brings up some niche detail always makes the day brighter