I’ve been making a list of my clothes. It seems very compelling each time I begin. I go, Big Yellow Corduroy Sweatshirt, Black Jumper, Seaside Hoodie, Marine Layer Long Sleeves, Love Sweatshirt, Big Red Pants, Rainbow Long Sleeves, Gray Cropped Long Sleeves, White Lace Dress, Blue and White Print Short Dress, Blue and White Print Shorts, Short Denim Shorts, Mint Green Short Shorts, Black Work Pants, Comic Pants, Guess Sweatpants, Gray Dansko Pants, Black Hearts Sweater, Pink Cropped Sweater, White Cowell Neck Sweater, Yellow Cashmere Sweater, Van Gogh T-Shirt, DKNY T-Shirt, Gray Deconstructed T-Shirt, Green Gloria Vanderbilt Top, Old Navy Ringer Tee, Red Sparkle Tank Top, Rainbow Stripe Sweatpants, Taylor Books T-Shirt Dress, HyStyl Black Rainbow Stripe Mini-Dress, Maroon Elephant Long Sleeves, Button Down Parrots Short Sleeves, MTV T-Shirt.… I’ve done it in pictogram form, and I’ve done it in words. I have lists in my notebooks going back at least two years. My clothes are clean today. Woke up this morning with that feeling of hey something good happened what was it? Oh yeah, life is easy. It will take me two seconds to get dressed today. I have two gigs, one at noon and one in the evening.

So then I was at the gig, I was talking with a lady about my favorite thrift store. Decided to go there afterward. Found this raincoat and this cashmere sweater. The evening gig was outdoors and rain was in the forecast. My other cashmere sweater is a pullover, my other cardigan is long and shaggy, this was a short cashmere cardigan and it had crystal flower buttons. So now I can write White French Connection Raincoat on my outerwear list and Black Cashmere Cardigan on my sweaters list. Looking forward to that mucho.

Woke up this morning like, oooooh raincoat. My raincoat is still hanging up in the bathroom on a hook where it dried from the rain last night. The sweater is on a velvet hanger in the wardrobe.

On my clipboard in the top drawer, there’s a new list that I started last night on glossy brochure paper with black illustration felt tips. This morning I got out the fingerprint inks.

Oh not to paint with, I got them out to play around with fingerprinting because I had been watching detective stories on the YouTube. Not detective stories but surveillance video from interrogation rooms. There’s a lot of stuff on there, they even have Alec Baldwin. I haven’t watched that one, it’s long. I have watched some of the longer ones though, if it starts playing automatically and then I get into it. I like how the detectives are. My favorite parts are when they sound normal and chatty like everything in the world is going to be alright. By that time, things already went wrong. I know they’re doing it for a different reason but it still sounds the same. It sounds like all they want to know is how you take your coffee. I would like to be married to a detective or a behavior analyst, so they could just know what I meant.

But that isn’t the case, so I have to do this. Meaning, I have to use words. The reason for my anxiety right now is that this is a long block of time in which I am in my studio and have nothing else that I am even supposed to be doing. This is it. YouTube is playing a jazzscape rooftop scene. The cats are sleeping. The clothes are clean. I don’t have to pack, unpack, move, sort, or go through. I have an evening gig, but it is afternoon. I am not sleepy. I went for a walk, I got exercise and fresh air, sunshine, and groceries. I have watched all of the shows. I’m taking a break from my detective stories because of the emotional toll of what they keep discovering. When they would come home, I would ask them how their day went, but they would know exactly what not to say.

Everybody asks how you take your coffee. Nobody asks how you take your cake.

I’ve been off of Facebook since February. I had gone off of it before but this is the longest time so far. I enjoy people in real life and didn’t enjoy people on there. This clue, once isolated and pondered long enough, suggested something was off. With Facebook deactivated, no one is blocked. Once in a while I wonder how someone is doing, and I write and ask them. They reply only with things they would say to me.

My favorite part of the detective show is how they have to pick the moment to turn the conversation, from sitting there being on the person’s side, to accusing them of lying (among other things). Once defined on some level as an ally by the other person, they have to willingly redefine themselves as an adversary. It is often a moment of masterful Band-Aid ripping. Other times it’s like a deeply flooded basement that you notice once it’s already done.

Sometimes when I’m taking a break from the detectives, I listen to Carl Jung. He says there are these different stages that you go through, but that you won’t necessarily. You will only if you do. He says the first two should normally be pretty much finished by midlife. I feel as though I’m beginning the second stage at forty-three and grateful to have made it. I don’t feel regretful or ashamed, as I realize it’s a blessing and a gift. So I guess, my apologies to anyone I may have previously interacted with. Although, given the vulgarity of public apology, I say this only tongue-in-cheek. Whenever one of us is misbehaving, I’m just grateful if it wasn’t me.