MID MONTH MEANDERS I ISSUE 1
A monthly series of mental neurosis and some stuff keeping me sane.
Welcome to the first installation of MID MONTH MEANDERS, a semi-newsletterish rundown of my brain, a short-ish list what’s been keeping me sane lately, and some cute little life updates. Heads up: this is carried over from my business-ish newsletter, just more fleshed out, detailed, and efforted, so it’s like the juiced up version. Enjoy 🙃.
I keep waking up with the same song in my head over and over again.
“I tremble…” dun dun dun dun dun dun
No matter what time, whether it’s a 5:43am weekday or a semi-slumber weekend, it’s there.
“they’re gonna eat me alive.”
A 2000’s beat complete with a nostalgia attachment.
“can you hear my heart beattttinggg like a hammmerrr…
And recently featured to close out the series finale of one of my favorite f-ing shows to ever grace the TV screen.
“…beatttting like a hammmerrrr.”
Weirdly, a few weeks before, I used this as a feature song for the first fiction piece I published on my Substack. It felt, for some reason, like it fit the vibe, it fit the whole ‘influencer who semi loses her shit’ plot that this 7 minute story takes you through.
An earworm, or ohrwurm (what the Germans call it), is the phenomenon of getting a song stuck in your head, over and over and over again. Auto repeat, cognitive itch, OCD are some other terms thrown around when researching this phenomenon, but the one that sticks out the most is memory and emotion.
Nostalgia for the millenia runs deeeeep these days. I think even Gen Zers are feeling it (and idk if they are even considered part of it?)
It was the last time we were able to run a muck without every single move, every single thing we did was tracked, rated, and talked about. A time when digital cameras were the only proof of the night before, and putting your favorite burned CD into the player, blasting it at top volume, and cruising in your 1992 Honda Civic was the contact high (or shitty weed high, whichever you preferred) tingle in your fingers better than any Amazon delivery to your door.
Screaming “Caught out there” by Kelis at the top of your lungs with your best friends after your boyfriend of 3 months just broke up with you while speeding down route 22.
Trying desperately to turn on the Sony Cyber Shot digital camera that took more than a few spills the night before during beer pong.
Hearing the dial up tone on AIM messenger just so you can type in an away message with your favorite flavor of the week song lyric, then sitting at the screen waiting for your new crush to read it.
These are the things that hit a heart.
Which brings me to now, since I started writing this (a whole ass month ago), all of this nostalgia dreaming has driven me to a much needed semi-digital detox, and with that extra headspace (lol), that nostalgic tap has brought me back to a tendril of a root as to what being a writer means to me and what the loopy ass journey has looked like…
Teenage years = Young Adult stories about angsty first love and growing into that next stage of life scribbled into lined notebooks and random pieces of paper.
College = Gotta pick a career that lets me write, so half ass join the school paper as an assistant editor, start my own “Advice Twice” column (pic proof to come), and claim Journalism as a major.
After college = Hello recession, goodbye print media, welcome digital world, blog writer, commence!
Twenties = The IG game of running a business online became the norm, so was launching the first iteration of my newsletter, sent directly from GMail. Also see; struggling with my identity as a writer and well, identity in general.
Thirties = Decided to claim the title as a writer because GDit, I am, launched Checking Out, and self-published my first book, Sympathy for the Strong Ones.
NOW = Realizing that I’ve consistently published pieces on Checking Out since 2022, on the brink of child #2, a pull to work on different styles of writing besides personal pieces and mid-level musings, andddd here we are.
I’m doing this thing called listening to my nudges, which means paying attention to what is or isn’t making me feel g-e-w-d. Right now, at the precipice of another whole ass life change, it feels important to listen to what my internal compass about a whole plethora of details in my life.
Anyway, back to the millenia nostalgia hits, I’ve also picked up reading magazines instead of doomscrolling, taking pictures with a good ol’ disposable camera, hand writing some of my pieces for Checking Out on actual paper, and obviously thinking about going back to a flip phone.
ON THE ‘I’M INTO THIS’ RADAR
💄 I’ve become a makeup girlie over the past few months (maybe years) and rn this liquid cheek color, this eye paint, and this lip tint is really making my pale ass skin look a little brighter.
📚 Absolutely adored and devoured this book by Aisha Muharrar. Highly, highly recco.
👏🏿 I finally got my hands on a hard copy of the latest MOTHERTONGUE magazine feature Erykah Badu and I can’t stop thinking about her saying this AND making it my new mantra. Also, I love magazine and making it a cot damn point to buy more.
🕯️Finally dusted off my altar thanks to the inspo from this podcast episode from Holisticism.
⌨️ Bang Voyage by Elin Strong has been such a breath of fresh air read for me as a writer, mother, and internally chaotic creative. Dare I say, part inspiration for this series.
🐆 I don’t care if this makes me a snob but lululemon recently dropped a cheetah print line and it has me in a choke hold.
🔥Now that smells don’t make me go horizontal in 3 seconds this incense is a kick-off to my morning writing ritual.
LATEST PIECES
A tribute to our sweet boy on his one year of passing, a reflection on 38, and going back to pen and paper.
LITTLE JOYS
