This is why some tattoos don't age well

Your own container full of chaos

There’s something immensely soothing about sitting in a doorframe.

Back up against the finish of the ledge, butt sinking into the solid hard wood underneath. It’s not comfortable by any means, but at the same time, it makes me feel like it’s exactly where I need to be, cocooned in the awkwardness of it all.

This weekend I found myself slumped against the doorframe between the kitchen and the dining room, belly rolled over my pant seam, doom scrolling through lordt knows what, blanking out into nothingness, my brain actively melting into my handheld screen.

I’m pretty sure I entered a corpse version of myself for a good 10 minutes or so.

It’s been raining for 54 straight days switching between downpours and spitting droplets, it’s starting to make me feel like I live in the PNW.

Okay here I am talking about the weather, ew.

There’s demolition happening down the hall from my office and old Pizzeria style music is crooning from the room.

Tony Bennett. Frank Sinatra. Maybe a little Michael Buble.

It’s annoyingly soothing, hitting me in the nostalgia bones for a reason I don’t quite understand. Maybe because the contractor is an older guy from down the shore or that we’re officially Jersey residents again or the fact that my bathroom is getting gutted while I’m hitting the 8 months pregnant part of my life and I could actually have a child at any given moment.

I used to read shit like this and roll my eyes.

“The privilege” I’d think when people complained about how stressful it is to buy a house and living in construction and not getting the right Baby Bjorn that they had on their registry, and LOL, jokes on me.

It’s so easy to say, “That’ll never be me” when it’s not actually you in the situation…yet.