Mayo called! Appointments are on the books for February, and now we just have to figure out logistics, including finances. Not sure how the hell we’re going to swing it, but so grateful for the chance to be seen there that I can’t even freak out about that right now.

I am fucking struggling, y’all. So so hard. Chronic illness can go fuck itself. Mayo in MN, see you before long.

Literally everything for my loved ones makes me wish I had just fucking died in that hospital back in 2021.

Mood.

Obviously I have a painting of Blanche in my dining room. As one does.

Jesus fucking Christ. These are not times for generalized anxiety disorder insomniacs. Alllllll this insomnia is being caused by a pretty specific cause, and fuck everyone that brought us here.

If I never hear Rusted Root’s “Send Me on My Way,” again, it will be way too fucking soon. Can Gen X faux hippies please pick a new anthem?

(The only acceptable use is in New Girl’s “Landlord” episode. Because that’s where it belongs.

Yeah, this sums it up.

I mean? Is “The Bear” crazy traumatic and I’m kinda not making a great friendship choice by rewatching it yet again in anticipation of the June release of the next season? Sure. But y’all know them baby blues are worth it.

I’m not one for cover tunes usually, but I’ll be damned if Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah” doesn’t hit me hard in the feels every. Single. Time.

Love a little perspective. And flyovers. Not so much 7 hour layovers. Still, totally worth it (and the ensuing red-eye) for time with my Oregon family and friends.