We are all a star.

I know Bette Davis died in 1989, but I also know that she was at my doctor’s office this morning sitting in a wheelchair and loudly throwing out phrases like “all that and a bag of chips.”

I went to the doctor this morning for a weird thing and it turns out that the weird thing is actually a MRSA infection (who KNEW?!) and if you’ve been around me at all for the past month or so you honestly have nothing to worry about unless you licked my skull. I don’t want to talk about it. (I’ve contacted the skull lickers because I’m a good citizen.)

While I was sitting there feeling all red-faced and infected with Staphylococcus, my doctor decided to check in on my headache preventative.

Dr. W: How is the Celexa working with your migraines?

Me: I think it’s going really well. I’ve taken maybe six headache pills so far this year, and before the Celexa I was taking one or two each week!

Dr. W: Do you have any side effects that are bothersome?

Me: Well, sort of but I don’t know. I haven’t cried since I started the Celexa and I normally cry all the time about weird stuff like animated elephants sacrificing themselves and little kids singing Stevie Wonder songs. The commercial with the tiny horse that needs a dog door because the other horses won’t socialize with him? That commercial would have destroyed me a year ago, but now I’m just like, “Huh.”

Dr. W: Does it bother you that you’re not crying at those things?

Me: It doesn’t BOTHER me, it’s just that it’s weird to not cry so easily.

Dr. W: Well, you could look at it like this. It might not be 100% normal to bust out crying during commercials. I think you had all sorts of hidden stress before the medication and it manifested itself with gastro symptoms and migraines and maybe even the unexpected crying. BUT, you have to ask yourself if NOT crying bothers you as much as the headaches did. The medication is an anti-depressant, but I didn’t prescribe it because of depression.

Me: I think I’ll keep taking it and be okay with the fact that heroes keep dying and I feel like a migraine-free David Bowie singing a Pink Floyd song.

So, Prince. I’ve spent the past day reading stories and tributes and feeling weird about the fact that I purchased gum for Harper called Raspberry Sorbet less than an hour before Tempe texted the news to me as I sat in the parking lot of a grilled cheese and tomato soup restaurant. (Harper wanted lemon gum, but I went with Raspberry Sorbet. Because of Raspberry Beret. I had no idea what was happening at Paisley Park as I was pulling out my Target Red Card.)

I don’t have any life-changing Prince stories, and I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been a committed fan since the beginning. What I *will* say is that I purchased the soundtrack to Purple Rain a month after I turned 14 back in 1984 and after listening to it over and over again I hid it in my bottom desk drawer because I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of the lyrics. I also knew that this music was not like anything else I was hearing on the radio in 1984. (In 1984 I also purchased the soundtracks to “Against All Odds” and “Footloose.” Huey Lewis and the News. Night Ranger. Duran Duran. Corey Hart. I loved them all, but they were not Prince.) I received “Around the World in a Day” for my 15th birthday along with Phil Collins’s “No Jacket Required” and Paul Young’s “The Secret of Association.” “Around the World in a Day” made it into my car when I got my license in 1986. I have no idea what happened to the Phil Collins or Paul Young. My 18th birthday found me opening “Lovesexy” and Alphabet St. continues to blow me away.

People are dying and a lot of times it seems like the wrong people are dying and I know that sounds really shitty for me to say, so I’ll stop.

Like I always do when I have no idea what else to do, I made a shirt.

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(When I’m 85 years old, I’m sure I’ll have shirts that commemorate all sorts of crazy events. Here’s hoping my great-grandkids know that these shirts could make an amazing time capsule quilt. Maybe.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Here’s to 100 more.

Things I’ve done every day for the past 100 days:
1. Shower
2. Eat food
3. Yoga

Today was my 100 day yoga anniversary and I celebrated by filling out forms for Meredith’s summer camp while drinking a caramel macchiato.

I also swatched for a cardigan:
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I also started the border for a shawl:
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I also made a bare bones quiche out of eggs, zucchini, and carrots:
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(While preparing the ingredients for the quiche, I cut my finger trying to pick zucchini out of my Veggetti, and that sounds a lot nastier than it was.)

Everything has changed since I started doing yoga. It’s my new favorite doughnut and if that doesn’t make sense, just know that the peace I feel after practicing yoga is the same peace I used to feel after sucking all of the raspberry jelly out of a raspberry jelly filled sugar doughnut. (Also, I’m much nicer now than I was 100 days ago. More mindful. More present. I can hold a side plank for 45 minutes.)

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(I’m lying. I can maybe hold one for 45 seconds, though, and that’s a heck of a lot more seconds than zero seconds which was my record 100 days ago.)

((I usually don’t wear shoes when I’m practicing yoga, but you don’t need to see that.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Man, I’m telling you, it’s a lapazoo.

At approximately 4:37 this morning, I noticed that the toilet was no longer flushing and that the failure to flush resulted from the stopper no longer being connected to the up-down thinger dinger that is normally activated by the external flush lever. I got really pissed about it, but three hours later I drove in the rain past a car that had caught fire on the highway. THAT guy is having a rough day. I can fix a toilet. (I think.)

Unrelated but similarly frightening: Some guy overdosed on heroin close to our old shaved ice place yesterday and drove into a mom and dad who were pushing their two year old in a stroller. The toddler flew something like ten feet, but will be fine. (The weird thing? As Heroin Guy drove over the family, I was ten miles west eating a shaved ice at our NEW shaved ice place. It opened less than a month ago, and my current favorite is a mixture of blueberry muffin and cream soda. The blueberry muffin actually tastes like blueberry muffins!) 

I can fix a toilet.

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After taking the girls to school, I drove to my haircut place. (While driving, I noticed that the inside of my car smelled like opening a musty board game in the 70s. Nostalgia.) The woman who cuts my hair is smart and funny and talented and I CAN FIX A TOILET! I CAN! (I think I just need a replacement flapper, and the only reason I know Flapper is because I just Googled toilet parts. Also, the hairstyle I’m shooting for could almost be referred to as a flapper cut. I’ve never touched a dolphin, but I want to. (If I had a dolphin for a pet, I would name him (or her) Flapper.))

UPDATED TO ADD: I fixed a toilet. It took less than two minutes, but I’ll be all high from it for the rest of the day because that’s what trying new things will do for you. We are the music makers and we are the dreamers of dreams!

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Three of your favorite topics: Feet, dreams, and yard stuff!

The last thing I want to see when I walk into a hospital is someone’s feet, and because I’m not a hypocrite (at least not 100% of the time) I make it a personal rule to never wear sandals into a hospital. Last week I was all Birkenstocked and headed to visit a doctor when I remembered that her office moved into a hospital. I had no time to turn around and throw on my Low Pros, so I was my own worst enemy for approximately 90 minutes. (Not that flip-floppers in a hospital are enemies of mine. They’re not. I don’t believe I really have any enemies in a hospital as long as employees are working together to keep hearts beating and everyone else is staying out of the way. Have I ever mentioned that I used to wear a stethoscope around my neck when I was an intensive care unit secretary? I’m despicable.) ((Disclaimer: Some hearts should not keep beating. A doctor’s success rate shouldn’t always rely on how many people he/she keeps alive.))

Two nights ago I had a dream during which I took six Vicodin and then started making phone calls to see if I could find someone to give me a lift to the emergency room. Sadly, everyone I called was too busy. Eventually, I realized that the game I was playing wasn’t a smart one. (Please know that if you needed a lift to the emergency room, I would try my hardest to get to you. My gas tank is (nearly) always at least half full.)

Last night I was responsible for Cher calling off her concert in the middle of a song just because I accidentally took a photo without turning off my flash. Everyone in the stadium was booing and throwing things at me.

(Every few months I go through a 2-3 week stint during which I feel expendable. It hits me so hard that I manage to drag it into the Land of Nod. (Biorhythms are real.)) ((Jeff bought some relaxation tea for me yesterday after I spiraled into a weirdo panic attack. I felt it again this morning, so I drove straight to Home Depot to stare at plants.))

I’ve been thinking a lot about edging for our front yard. Three houses in the subdivision went on the market last week and each one of them sold within two days. I think it’s time for our yard to put on a fancier skirt, which means we’ve been using words like Phlox and Lilac and Trustworthy Tree Trimming Guy.

Two days ago I ate the best blueberry streusel doughnut, and my Fitbit just flashed “Burn it, A-Dawg.” So many bright spots.

EDITED TO ADD: Perhaps “expendable” was too strong of a word choice. Please know that I’m not experiencing any sort of crisis. With that said, thank you so much for the love! You guys honestly are the absolute best. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>