Ruthie B. Staley

Violently suffer 6 days of sickness. 2 days sleep-recover, barely leave bed. Day 9 wake up with headache and runny nose. Day 10, rinse and repeat.

Last night my husband revealed that he pulls out one specific fork just for me and makes sure that it is clean every night because he knows I prefer it. I cannot stop thinking about this absurd bit of lore about myself that is absolutely true but has never been expressed to him.

When away from my clingiest of dogs for more than 24 hours, I imagine him wandering around the house shading the spare humans with his sassy side eye, an unending loop of “The Challenge” from Epic the Musical surging violently in his head, carefully plotting ways to ruin them.

My therapist is *literally* chomping at the bit to get me into a hypnotherapy session—Whoa there, Martha. No thanks. I have enough trouble as it is dealing with what I do remember. No need to dig up buried trauma, my plate is already full. You sadist.

Casually browsing through a small bookshop, listening to a college student profess her love for the SIXTEENTH Chapel and all things “authenticity Roman,” physically and emotionally feeling the last essence of my sanity crumbling.

Decades of listening, and I still make up my own lyrics during Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit.

One delightful, amazing perk of being a Nanny to music enthusiasts is that they never tire of listening to my album fixations. We have listened to Epic the Musical so often that even little (almost) Four can sing along with most of the sagas. Am I the best Nanny ever? Yes. I am.

The young one wants her turn for glory.

Yesterday I managed to convince a toddler that I was not a human woman, but instead an undercover goose. This morning I claimed my first victory of hide-and-seek against my dog in our decade long competition. Cannot wait to sleep all day tomorrow. All this winning is exhausting.

I imagine your eyes caught between sorrow and agitation when you text me. Waterlogged whiskey, at least your third. Something close to resentment reads through my screen. Your resolution is to stitch our lives back together, determined to patch pieces you no longer hold. #vss365