Life Comes at You Fast

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Defeated by a Dancing Raccoon

2 Comments / Life Comes at You Fast / By
It’s Wednesday after a long weekend at a family reunion in Montana, and I am running on fumes and caffeine.

I’m tired.

I’m scrambling to catch up at work. Tomorrow is Jack’s last day of school before summer break.

My only goal today was to be invisible — heads down, get things done, no sudden movements.

And honestly? I needed a reset. My eating was a disaster all weekend: one giant celebratory meal a day with family… or peanuts and a Diet Coke for dinner… or nothing at all except a double Bloody Mary at the airport. I felt gross. Today was supposed to be the day I got myself back on track.

That, and run errands. Just errands. Mundane, boring, adult errands:

Drop Angus at doggy daycare
ULTA for one thing I absolutely did not need
Trader Joe’s for healthy snacks I absolutely did need
Haggen for the rest of the “I’ll deal with it later” grocery list

Leggings. Hoodie. Zero makeup — except Lipstick, with a capital L. Mood: Do Not Perceive Me.

But apparently the universe said, “Actually… we will be perceiving you today.” Because instead of blending into the wallpaper like I intended, I accidentally chose a shirt that turned me into a walking conversation starter.

A raccoon shirt. Yes. A raccoon. Mid‑twirl. Full attitude. Looking like it’s auditioning for Dancing With the Trash Can Stars.

And somehow — SOMEHOW — this shirt got compliments from men AND women at every stop.

Doggy daycare? Compliment.
ULTA? Compliment.
Trader Joe’s? Compliment.
Haggen? Compliment.

I was just trying to buy hummus and conditioner, and suddenly I’m the day’s main character. Who knew raccoons were magnetic?

So I came home, stared at my unmade bed, put the hoodie back on, and ate Tillamook Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream for dinner. Straight from the carton. Because at that point… why not.

Life Comes at You Fast ✌️

Sometimes in Montana.

Sometimes in leggings.

Sometimes in the form of a dancing raccoon who refuses to let you hide.

Bright Lights, Bad Timing

Life Comes at You Fast / By

I started my morning at the eye doctor, dealing with the ongoing drama that is my cataract surgery recovery on my “funky eye” — the one that’s been permanently damaged since childhood. They dilated it, scanned it, tested it, shined lights into it… the whole trauma experience. By the time I left, I felt like I’d been emotionally tortured.

I rushed home to meet the electrician who was installing pendant lights over my kitchen island. The second he walked in, I remembered — with the clarity of a woman who is absolutely not winning today — that I forgot to buy lightbulbs.

Of course I did.

So off I went to Home Depot, stumbling into the lighting aisle like a vampire who’d taken a wrong turn.

It was so bright in there that a normal person would’ve needed sunglasses. Me? With my freshly‑dilated, battle‑worn eye?

The light was so piercing I genuinely thought I might start shouting out confessions. Isn’t this how CIA interrogations start? A single bulb. A metal chair. A broken woman.

I stood there, blinking like I had just been shot with a taser, laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of my life. Because honestly — who else ends up in Home Depot, half‑blind, post‑surgery, trying to buy lightbulbs?