julierichmond

For the past six weeks, give or take a day or three, I’ve felt like I’m living life on the edge of my seat. Like there is always a task I’ve forgotten, a place that I should be, a call I didn’t return.

Our lives been a little hectic. Jack and Chanel went to dog book camp to learn some manners; we just picked them up today so I’ll update on how successful it was. We had our floors done, translated, for about a week and a half all of our furniture was stuffed in a pod, behind a pod, in the back yard, in the basement; I couldn’t open the refrigerator without moving a table.

I feel weird whining about the stress of sending the dogs to training and doing some work on the house. But it was stressful. Layered on top of the stress of reading the news and living in the world in June, 2025. Maybe I should correct that to “living in these United States in the springtime of 2025”.

I’ve only found peace when I’m walking Bernadette around the neighborhood, headphones smashed on both ears, old playlists turned up so loud my phone scolds. I’ve found peace in the pool, sliding through water, one lap freestyle, the return backstroke. Deep dives to the bottom where I find leaves, hair ties, forgotten toy soldiers and headless Barbies.

I find peace as I fall into bed, slide under sheets, the whisper of an air conditioner, and the promise of sleep, and dreams, and the quieting of my mind, while I sleep.

The dogs are home. The table is where it belongs and the paintings are hung on the walls, mostly.

I’m hoping the uneasy weight around my shoulders will loosen and that I won’t need to immerse my thoughts in pop music, chlorine, pond water, or sleep made easy with chemicals.

It is summertime, and I am a summertime kind of girl.

This woman just needs to remember what that feels like, or figure out where the hell she went.