The Worst I've Ever Felt
HEY! Before we begin.
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1. Good morning.
I say morning because even though it’s 5:24 pm EST as I type this, my fingers are shaking, my body is sweating and my vision is foggy because I’ve just woken up. It’s an icy 39 degrees outside but on the inside, everything is burning.
Emotionally, spiritually, physically…politically.
Because what a way to start the year, wouldn’t you say? It’s 2025, and I’ll admit it: I have the flu.
Luckily, in my case, this illness is likely temporary (I mean, I have my suspicions that I’ll die this way but according to the doctors it should be over by Monday). However, the illness of the country? Well, that outcome doesn’t look quite so low-temperatured, does it?
But I’m not going to get into it here. Not because I avoid politics or making blanketed, incendiary political statements, but more so because I’m SICK AS FUCK AND I DON’T HAVE THE CAPACITY TO EFFECTIVELY STRING TOGETHER MY DISGUST AND ANGER INTO WORDS.
So. There you go.
2. What does the future look like for me?
Lately (the past six days), I’ve been reflecting on my life (fever-dreaming) and I’ve decided that I need to be more intentional with my choices.
Culturally, we talk a lot about intentionality and all that shit—it’s a fave phrasing in certain white woman circles—but I never really processed what it meant until recently.
And maybe it’s partially because my life didn’t start with intentionality.
In fact, I was born two months (TW: traumatic birthing story) premature, my mother waking up on a cold November morning, alone, to a pool of blood surrounding her on a mattress, my dad having already for a work trip across the country. Apparently, her placenta had dislodged overnight. And while she was rushed to the hospital, my father paged over the airport intercom, doctors and nurses working frantically to slow my birth…
I just couldn’t be stopped.
And I arrived on this earth that very evening at 7:03pm CST.
From there on, things went about as chaotically as you’d expect.
There were no neatly printed baby books or delicately painted nurseries for me. Instead, there were NICU visits and brushes with death and oxygen tents that luckily by the Grace of God didn’t blast my eyes out.
And there was me. A canonically “easy” baby. Who, according to my mother, starting speaking at seven months. My first word was hug. (“A concept, not a thing. That’s very difficult for a baby to understand. That’s when I knew you were very, very smart.”) Then, dog. And then finally, dad. Not sure when mom made the list but you can make your own assumptions about that.
I would say every move I’ve made since then has been made with about as much calculation, which is to say…none at all. I’ve been hurredly and sometimes violently delivered along from one life event to the next. From high school to college to the work force…and now…
I’ve always just been trying to survive. Never to actually…choose something for myself. How strange to even consider the thought.
I didn’t plan a wedding, didn’t think about buying a house, or having kids (having kids? When I am a kid???). I never thought what a five year plan might look like. Or a even a fucking vision board, for that matter.
I like to live my life as if time is limitless. As if I’ll never age or change or grow old or die. Time is a hallway that stretches on and on and on and I can open any doors I choose while meandering through in a never-ending river of possibilities.
But…as my most recent brush with mortal realities has proven…that’s not the truth.
My time here is limited. And I’m already *whispers* forty-one. (Lol, that’s a Sex & the City reference so don’t crucify me).
Really, turning forty changed me as a person. It’s not like the number has any actual significance outside of the usual cliche. But at the same time…words mean things. Middle aged. I don’t think of myself as middle aged. No, I think of myself as a baby in this world. Wide eyed and wondering at all life’s mysteries, sucking on hard candies and laughing at strangers.
But in five…ten years. I’ll have no choice.
Life comes for us all.
Which is why, say it with me intentionality.
What are your intentions with my daughter? I ask myself.
I’d like to make sure she doesn’t die with every regret. I answer.
This is a long winded way to get to my point which is: I think I’d like to publish two books this year. LOLOLOLOL
3. Two books? That’s it?
Most romance authors publish two books in their sleep, bitch.
But I want to remind you again of my original newsletter thesis which is intentionality.
I’m making actual choices. Instead of doing something crazy like writing 6000 words a day for 28 straight days and then publishing whatever comes out of that (a thing I did last year.)
Instead, I’m choosing what needs to be done and I’m not going to aim past that, even if my greedy little ADHD Veruca Salt brain doesn’t care how she wants it now.
Two books.
That’s all I gotta get out of myself before the year is through.
4. I’m dying, we’re all dying
Okay, I’m impressed I’ve written this much considering how FUCKING SICK I AM. This wouldn’t have possible a mere twenty-four hours ago, but now I’ve finally started eating again so I guess that’s where the burst of creative writing came from.
I’ve been sleeping so much, I started to feel really lonely, tbh. Although, grateful to my dogs who haven’t left my side since this illness began almost seven days ago.
They’re even now glued to either of my hips, chests rising and falling in unison, unconcerned about what better things they could be doing instead of lying around on a nasty sick couch with me.
What a blessing it is to have dogs.
It’s also kind of funny how they came locked and loaded with the ability to understand illness. Melon only just got here a few months ago, but as soon as I began feeling down, she was curled up against my chest, easy breath against my face, snoozing beside me like she had a PhD in naptime.
I could weep just to think of it.
In fact, I’ve done a lot of weeping lately.
5. If you are looking for ways to start the new year without bursting into tears
Might I suggest you read my books?
Full Length Novels:
Novellas:
Okay love you but don’t kiss me because I’m contagious bye
But like… dogs. The real ones. My little is snoozing next to me, very happily not be doing anything else