Got an unsurprisingly bland homily proclaiming a generic “Christ is the answer” at Mass, but I did appreciate the mention of “from Minnesota … to Venezuela” toward the end.

Still a lot better than the guy at our former parish who quoted Candace Owens from the pulpit. 😐

Finally coughed up a newsletter.

I haven’t produced a newsletter in a couple of weeks. I’m tired a lot and focusing what little non-family energy I have on stuff that earns money — freelance stuff and the Etsy shop.

Part of it, I suspect, is feeling pretty paralyzed by the state of the world lately. (Clearly, the Lexapro isn’t working anymore. Not that it would help with fascism.) Sucking it up takes a lot more out of me than it used to.

If I were a columnist, I’d probably be sacked. Fortunately, I started the newsletter for funsies, and nobody hired me to do it. But I probably still owe it to subscribers to get something out there, or at least try.

I’ll try to spit out something this week.

You know it’s a postseason Sunday in Chicagoland when an entire family in matching Walter Payton jerseys comes up for Communion and the priest ends Mass with “Go Bears!”

It was certainly a great year to be laid off. 😐

First newsletter of the year. Read, enjoy, subscribe. (It’s free!)

And if I can build an empire without invading Venezuela, I’ll be a happy gal.

Catara the home office manager says good riddance to 2025 and wishes you a New Year full of hope and Temptations cat treats. But mostly hope.

Oh, look. It’s a Boxing Day newsletter, complete with regrettable AI-generated image! Feel free to read, please.

It’s 2:30 in the morning, and I just turned out the kitchen lights after getting all my gifts wrapped and cleaned up a little before the husband and daughter — both morning people who wake up at the butt crack of dawn — emerge from sleep on Christmas morning. I’ll wake up, too, silently scheduling a nap not long after lunchtime.

I even swept in the dead of night, which in the Filipino tradition I grew up in, is bad luck for some reason. After the crummy year of job loss, sadness, and despair over the state of the world, I can’t imagine sweeping at night would be that big a deal.

We have a parol flashing in our living room window and a yard-high fake white tree with quieter but more colorful lights on an end table nearby. The bright colors of the season don’t really dredge me out of the meh vibe I’ve had this month. But they’re good company in the dark as I type this.

Substack is good company, too – I’m writing this over there as well – though I doubt anyone will read this in the Notes feed there. I still don’t see the point of Notes, since they don’t seem to draw any eyeballs to my newsletter or any other writing of mine here beyond that. If I’m at the mercy of some faceless algorithm, Notes feels pointless. But I push on.

At the very least, it feels good to write. And I know it feels good to create art, but I haven’t done much of that lately.

The husband and daughter anchor me, even when I’m cranky, unwell, or otherwise unable to drag myself out of bed. I’m not sure what I’d do without them.

The fresh start of a new year feels like a merciful thing. That may be the greatest gift for me this season. It may be the only thing that truly pulls me forward. And I’m grateful for that. Merry Christmas.

Dammit, one stop at my local coffee joint for a matcha latte and I’ve already lost #Whamageddon.

This is the kind of wintry snapshot that I would have sent my sister. She lived in Southern California and loved anything snowy or otherwise seasonal. I miss being able to send her these.

I may be more than a little paranoid, but I’m weirded out by older men on social media who seem to follow only women and then decide to follow me and directly ask to be my friend. The vibe is a little creepy, honestly.

Not sure what this means for me, but I’ve gone from writing about gift-giving ideas for Tuesday’s newsletter to New Wave music and aging. But it’s fun to watch hours of Oingo Boingo videos and call it work-related research.

Anyway, we’re halfway through the Thanksgiving holiday weekend and I still have much to do, including decluttering the office and setting up a new printer that I bought months ago. With a new Snowstorm That Ate Chicagoland threatening on Saturday to keep us home through Sunday, I might as well hunker down with long-needed tasks.

Had a post-Thanksgiving date with F this morning at a local diner. I enjoyed listening to all the seniors sitting around us at breakfast this morning updating their tablemates on the status of their snowblowers.

Better late than never — or early, depending on your view. After no newsletter last Friday and going on holiday this Friday, here’s a Wednesday newsletter. Happy Thanksgiving!

Mood.

Yesterday was the anniversary of my sister’s passing. November 30 will be her birthday.

I love fall, but the latter part of November is tough.

Done with a 60,000+ word proofread that occupied much of my weekend and today. Very happy to have the freelance work.

Now it’s time to rest up with some reading for fun before working on the Friday newsletter that I never sent out late last week. Not proud of myself for blowing deadline, but I struggled a bit with fatigue and some chronic pain that dragged me down. I’m trying to figure out a way to manage the pain and the caffeine intake that seems to aggravate it.

I didn’t get the newsletter out Friday. Might end up either getting it out as late as Monday. I have a freelance project that I need to get out by Monday, and I’ll likely be working on it through the weekend.

Been listening repeatedly to this talk on YouTube that references and takes inspiration from Alan Watts and the “desire to lie down all day,” which is exactly how I’ve been the past few weeks. I’ve shut down so much lately; honestly, this has been the case for much of the year, particularly since I was laid off. I had hoped to be recovered enough from burnout by now – and I have had moments of recovery – but I feel so brought down daily by a fatigue of the soul even now.

Meanwhile, I continue to wrestle with chronic pain. Doctor visits have come up with nothing, really. I’ve decided to invest in a few supplements that target the pain, much of which I suspect is connected to menopause (and which my new ob/gyn insists is just arthritis that should be fine wth a little ibuprofen). I have begun to see why so many people go all RFK Jr. with their health and take monkey hormones for headaches or whatever – the conventional health care industry feels like such a profound failure in so many ways.

I really, really hate algorithms. But right now Instagram is giving me a huge load of Scotland-qualifies-for-the-World-Cup content, and I couldn’t be happier.

The second of this month’s Tuesday newsletter is here. Give it a look; if you’re grieving, maybe it’ll help you feel less alone.

I will spend the rest of my days trying to figure out why the left edge of the laptop is perfectly parallel with the left edge of the photo while the right edge is at an angle. Overthinking it just now has given me a headache. Anyway, my laptop is ready for travel (at least to the nearest coffeehouse).

Welp, another doctor’s appointment, another medical professional insisting I’m fine. I’ll be taking another fistful of ibuprofen if you need me.

I can see why people go all RFK Jr. on their health care and take monkey hormones for headaches or something.