It’s late.

It’s late, but that’s not a surprise.

It’s always late when this happens.  The business and sunlight and work drive away any time you have to feel too strongly, but eventually the sun goes down and everyone is tucked into bed and you are alone and the only sound is your terrible voice in your head.  And you try to drown it out with the world but the world isn’t enough.

Or it’s too much.

I’m not sure, and somehow that makes it worse.

It would be better if there was a reason.  I check the internet.  Mercury is not in retrograde.  I’m on my meds.  My life is good and I am lucky.  I step outside and see that it’s a full moon and I find some small comfort in this.  I know people say the moon doesn’t affect people, but on nights like these when you want to crawl out of your own skin it’s a comfort to cling to the idea that it’s not really you…that it’s the moon.  Maybe it’s both.

Tomorrow I will feel better.  I will wonder who wrote this strange note.  I will find it silly and feel ridiculous.

But tonight my head is the moon – too full.  Tonight I will lay in my bed wondering if the promise of morning is real.  If I’m stuck in this night forever.

I will wonder, does everyone feel this lost?  Am I the only one who becomes invisible in the night?  A desperate ghost in my own house.  In my own skin.

Tonight is hard, but tomorrow will be better.

I’ll keep telling you that if you keep telling me.

Why I love twitter, part 80 billion

It’s sort of a happy birthday to all of us.

I just found out that you can design your own leggings, so of course I was like, “You know what these pants need?  A motherfucking happy raccoon.”

AND GUESS WHAT?  I WAS TOTALLY RIGHT AND THEY ARE GLORIOUS.

“HELLO FROM PANTS.” ~ Rory

The hand placement is unfortunate. Or perfect. Depends on how you feel about being high-fived on the butt by an over excited raccoon.

The best part is that not only is an insane raccoon staring down people on the subway, but also his fur makes it look like you have luxuriously long leg hair with glitter stuck in it.  Like a werewolf who just came from a party.   The only thing better to put on leggings would be a really unflattering picture of your ex on them and then walked around their neighborhood like a mobile billboard they can’t untag themselves in.

Just a suggestion.

PS. Today is Victor’s birthday.  Happy birthday, sweetie.  I love you.  For your birthday I am not buying these tights.  For you, I mean.  I might buy some for me.  BECAUSE LOOK AT THEM, VICTOR.

PPS.  They’re in my shop (along with this pair as well) if you want a pair yourself because today all their clothes are 40% off.  If you’re not reading this when the sale is on, just wait until it is again because $60 for leggings seems insane.  Almost as insane as wearing a raccoon on your butt.

I love this so hard.

A lot of high school kids do monologues or speeches or interpretive scripts based on my books but I almost never get to see the finished products.  This one was online though and I just watched it and it made me (cough) furiously happy.  It’s based on Let’s Pretend This Never Happened.  Thought I would share:

(PS. Skip to the 2 minute mark if it doesn’t do that for you automatically.)

Ow. My heart.

Today is Hailey’s birthday.  She’s now officially a teenager, which seems wrong because this was her yesterday:

Seven years ago today. Happy birthday, sweet girl.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

Or maybe it was seven years ago. Feels like yesterday.

Except yesterday she was still a pre-teen and two days ago I tucked her in like I did when she was still little and I pulled out a book to read her a story. And Hailey thought I was crazy but she went along with it. And I cried a little. And then she asked me to read her another one. And then she cried a little.

And then I kissed her on the head and she said I could still read her bedtime stories, sometimes…if I really wanted to.

It was a nice present. For both of us.

Happy birthday, Hailey. You may be a teenager, but to me you will always be my little girl.

And then I blinked, and suddenly she was a teenager.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

Surviving September

There’s something about September that wants to eat you.

I wrote that years ago and it’s still just as true today.  In fact, every September for years and years I’ve written a post about how – for me at least – September brings a sneaking depression with it.  This September has been similar, but in a way it’s a comfort to look back at my blog posts and see that the fear and dread is seasonal…and that it passes.  That I’ve survived every September so far, and that’s a good record to remind myself of.  And if you’re reading this?  So have you.

I was going to write a longer post but I sort of think the best thing I can do today is to read a book and take a walk and do something nice for myself.  And so should you. Make a plan right now to do something lovely to celebrate being alive.  And instead of writing a long post I’m going to post what I wrote last year because it makes me happy, and maybe it’ll make you happy too:

September is an asshole.  I don’t why.  Maybe it’s the lack of sunlight or the end of summer or some sort of ancient curse, but regardless, it’s always a hard month to survive if you have depression.  I’ve pulled out my light therapy magic box but it’s not entirely enough so yesterday we went to the pet store so I could cover myself in medicinal ferrets. Unfortunately this pet store knows me so they were like, “ONE FERRET AT A TIME, LADY” and “WE WILL FRISK YOU WHEN YOU LEAVE” but one was enough to kickstart the happy.  It wasn’t quite strong enough though so we went to one of those zoos that’s not really a zoo because the animals are running around free and you just drive through and throw food at them.  It is one of my favorite things ever and not just because it’s hilarious to see Victor get mad about a traffic jam that consists entirely of ostriches who don’t give a fuck about where you have to go.

zebras

Even better, Victor isn’t entirely trusting of large wild animals so he yells, “OTHER SIDE OF THE CAR, FRANK.  I DON’T SUPPORT YOUR PANHANDLING” (he thinks they will listen better if he uses names) or “GET AWAY WITH YOUR BLACK DEMON EYES, LARRY.  I KNOW YOUR GAMES” as Hailey and I feed them and assure them he really doesn’t mean it.  Then he yells “I MEAN IT, LARRY.  AND I WANT MY SOUL BACK.”  But then eventually he’ll see some sort of animal with a limp or a missing horn and he’ll get all mushy and feed it and yell at the other animals about how awesome this broken animal is so that it will feel better about itself.  It’s basically how he wooed me and it totally worked.

"He's not missing a horn, Larry. HE'S A UNICORN." ~ Victor

“He’s not missing a horn, Larry. HE’S A DAMN UNICORN.” ~ Victor

We went at the end of the day so most of the animals were already full and sleepy but I did have an encounter with a zebra who was terrifying, derpy and noble all at once.

“Hey.”

"Knock knock motherfucker." This zebra has NO chill.

“Knock knock motherfucker.” This zebra has NO chill.

JESUS.

JESUS.

If you squint, his snout looks like a black panther, which is probably a very good defense if lions attack during the night.

We also met an emu (I think?) who reminded me that birds are our closest relations to dinosaurs and I fed him out of the bag while Victor reminded me that the almost-velociraptor probably wanted my meat sausages (which I thought was a gross because I don’t have a bag of penises, Victor, but then I figured out that he meant my delicious fingers) but I totally would have let this guy chew on my fingers because the smiles he gave me were worth everything.  And I’m sharing it with you because LOOK AT THIS FACE.

"Hello. I'm from the Dark Crystal. I'll just live in your nightmares from now on."

“Hello. I’m from the Dark Crystal. I’ll just live in your nightmares from now on.”

"JUST KIDDING! GIVE ME FOOD IN MY MOUTH HOLE PLEASE!"

“JUST KIDDING! I LOVE YOU GUYS!  PUT FOOD IN MY MOUTH HOLE PLEASE!”

thebloggessbird

And then I felt better.  And I’m sharing it so you will too.  Just remember that as dark as September gets there are ridiculous near-dinosaurs waiting to smile enormously as you hand-feed them.  And that’s worth sticking around for.

PS. You know when a guy is trying to be all suave and he lights two cigarettes for him and his honey?  Not as cool as you think it looks:

cigars

On open letter to the lady in my neighborhood:

Dear lady whose small dog was running in the middle of a road and almost caused several accidents until me and a stranger made a roadblock with our cars and chased down the dog and then walked door-to-door carrying him until we found someone who was like, “I’m shocked that dog is not dead yet.  He lives next door and is always in the road” and then we went to your door and you looked at me indignantly and angrily grabbed your dog like I’d forcibly kidnapped him from his happy life of attempted suicides and said only, “Well, he’s an outside dog sometimes, thankyouverymuch“:

I’m going to burn your garage down.

Maybe.

Hugs.

me

I’m a little offended that this was recommended to me and also I want it immediately.

So Amazon is continuing its insulting streak of knowing me better than I know myself by sending me a recommendation for this:

It’s a backpack filled with a cat.

Cat not included.

Probably.

It isn’t that specific.

But it has a plastic space-capsule bubble so you can make your cat into a tiny unwilling astronaut.  It looks pretty mortifying (for both you and the cat) because when you wear it on your chest it looks like you’re pregnant with a front-loading washing machine filled with live cats, but I still want one, if for no other reason than to go to fancy dinner parties and avoid awkward small talk by pretending the cat is the actual guest and that I’m just the carrier.  And if people still tried to talk to me I could act like I was too busy to speak to them and yell, “THIS IS GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM(cat).  CAN YOU HEAR ME, MAJOR TOM (cat)?” until they give up and leave me alone.

PS. Also, I’m going to need a cat sized space helmet for authenticity sake.

PPS. And probably some wet wipes because Hunter S. Tomcat gets traveler’s diarrhea when he leaves the house and I suspect this could quickly become a horrific viewing window into a literal shit show.

PPPS. Maybe I’ll just do it with Ferris Mewler.

PPPPS. This just came up on instagram:

This cat is living his best life and now I’ve decided that I want to be carried around in a backpack myself.

*******

And now…time for the weekly wrap-up!

 

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Shit-you-may-or-may-not-want-to-see:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by HerPair.com.  I was a little confused when an unexpected pair of really nice underwear with a penis drawn on them came in the mail, but then I looked them up and it made more sense. “Created to start an important conversation in a funny manner. We aren’t in the business of just selling products. We are in the people business, working to empower women to be the AMAZING people they want in life.  HerPair is not only about liberating intimate wear.  It’s a movement.”  You should check them out here.

 

They’re like snow peas, but with less carbs. I assume.

Me: Dude.  The news just said that snow leopards are no longer endangered, so guess what’s for dinner?

Victor: Are they no longer endangered because there are more of them or because now they’re extinct?

me:  Oh.  I don’t know.  Damn.  My joke just went from dark to tragic.

PS.  They’re not extinct. But they’re still not in great shape.  Don’t eat them.

PPS. The last 6 months have been filled with “I’M DYING” illnesses and procedures and invasive bullshit but I have a few updates.

I still don’t have answers for all the anemias but they’ve at least ruled out all the scary stuff and are settling into “Well, you’re just fucked up but you’ll probably live.”  My liver is rebelling from the effects of this fuck-off-tuberculosis medicine, which means I have to stop drinking until the TB is gone and do constant blood work to check my levels.  Not a fan.  Of the not drinking, I mean.  The blood work is old hat.  BUT!!!  I just got back from my GP and 80% of the problems I’d had 6 months ago (extreme vitamin and hormone deficiencies, thyroid problems, clotting problems, cholesterol, pre-diabetic, etc.) are now gone.  WHOOP!  I still have to stay on the (literally) two shoeboxes full of pills and supplements and keep up this terrible low-carb, low-sugar diet for the moment, but I feel mostly human compared to where I was six months ago so I’m (grudgingly) fine with that.  Also, I’ve lost 30 pounds, so I went from “obese” to “overweight” and that’s very nice, except I’m now slightly less successful at bending my spine back and resting my hand on my belly while asking anxiously if I can use the restrooms in stores where customers aren’t allowed to use the restrooms.  Bit of a mixed bag there.  But I’ll take it.

PPPS.  Also, I have to do blood work constantly so “See doctor for blood work” is all over my calendar, but google autocorrected it to “See doctor for blood worms” once so now when I type in “See doctor” it automatically fills in “FOR BLOOD WORMS” and I should probably fix that but I’ve decided to keep it because it’s a nice reminder that even though I seem to collect disorders I can at least be grateful that I don’t have blood worms.

PPPPS.  Yet.

PPPPPS.  That I know of.

PPPPPPS.  Fuck.  I think I just gave myself blood worms and I don’t even know if that’s a real thing.

PPPPPPPPS. If “leopards” is spelled almost the same as “leotards”, why don’t we pronounce them the same?

Our people

My mom last year when her DNA test came back: “This says I’m mostly Irish?  I don’t know anything about being Irish.”

me today:  “I’ve found your people.”

Slightly related:

This ad was under the video on youtube and I was like, “OH MY GOD, what is wrong with that penis?” and Victor was like, “Nothing.  Because that’s…not a penis” and I was very relieved both for the person whose penis it’s not and also for the people who don’t have to fix eye bags by wiping an infected penis across their face.