I’m (very slowly) reading a new book about scientology even though I am pretty sure I know everything there is to know about scientology at this point. Update: still fucked up.

Yesterday, someone asked when I thought things would start to get back to normal for me and I’m still mad about it. To be clear, the answer to that question is: never. Normal is my dad being here. Everything else is not-normal.

It’s the golden age of streaming and I am currently watching the third season of a show called High School Musical: The Musical: The Series. They’re at summer camp this season and I genuinely don’t understand multiple significant plot points. For a show called High School Musical: The Musical: The Series. Someone in this relationship is an idiot. It’s great when they burst into song, though.

This evening’s drug of choice is Cadbury Mini Eggs.

Today, I took a thank you card and a chocolate cake to the paramedics. My gratitude for them is infinite. And also, I almost said, “Thanks for saving my dad; it didn’t stick.” You can’t say things like that out loud but I increasingly think my after-Dad life will be organized around maximizing time with people I can say things like that to.

The thing about this High School Musical show is that I’m very invested in the drama of the main actors, who were in a relationship but now are not, and who are basically children. But I don’t have the resolve to read about it for any length of time. So I’m invested but not very committed, and I can’t keep track of the details, but I still try to explain it to other people.

My kiddo is obsessed with Pokémon and I don’t know anything about them except that there are so many Pokémon. My secret mom hack is that if you ask a kid to invent a new Pokémon they will talk for the next ten-to-twelve minutes without needing any additional input from their caregiver.

The dog says I have to go to bed. Tomorrow, we’ll aim for a coherent narrative. I promise.