A few weeks back I decided I was done with Fluid Pudding, mainly because I didn’t have anything nice to say. The second half of 2025 was a monster that held things like death and hospitals and mental health struggles and the worst fucking Thanksgiving ever and Blergh! Politics! and all of it continued into 2026 and I went broody.
Then yesterday I woke up and learned that an insanely fearless despot killed over 100 girls at a school in Iran, so I got out of bed, showered, made some coffee, folded some clothes, worked, and just sort of Saturday’d until I could Saturday no more because this is just how things are, and I really didn’t intend for this paragraph to be so dismal. (I’m rusty. It’s been three months since I’ve typed to you.)
Truth: Fluid Pudding makes me happy, so walking away just because I’m a wet hen/hermit crab hybrid didn’t make sense. (Please know that I do a great impression of a sand crab, which is a totally different crustacean than a hermit crab—and much more difficult to imitate!)
A friend in Denver and I used to send three joys to each other every day. It was a nice exercise to force the eye past all of the horrible shit to focus on things that aren’t so horrible.
Here are three recent joys:
I bought myself a percolator. My grandparents had one, and I remember loving both the sound and the smell of their morning coffee as it brewed in the percolator that sat on their pink kitchen countertop. (If you’re curious, I’ve been drinking Goshen’s Bona Fide coffee for the past year. Medium. Local. Delicious.)
Last week was my semidecennial colonoscopy, and my insides were so clear that a tiny leprechaun somehow found his way inside and exited with a crock of gravy!
Look at the sky and keep muddling along!
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