in a rare bout of personal accomplishment,

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

I cleaned two toilets today. Bowls and all.

I’ve always been afraid of toilets. For as long as I can remember, if I flush one at night, I run in terror back to bed. I just know my soul’s in danger.

It’s really only been in the recent years that I’ve been petrified of all things associated with toilets: germs… fecel matter… skin cells… urine… toilet water… even that little silver flusher. Er, especially that little silver fusher. It’s gotten pretty out of hand. But I did develop a useful skill: I can pee standing up. It’s indispensible in some public restrooms, and a good upper thigh workout.

Today I looked my mysophobia–my scatophobia–my molysomophobia–my panthophobia– all of ’em–straight in the eye, and I said, “Mysophobia! Scatophobia! Molysomophobia! Pan-whatever-phobia! You’ve been ruling my life for too long.”

And I donned my cleaning clothes, gloves, Super Sponges, doused the bathrooms in bleach and went at ’em. And boy are they shiny.

Then I showered and put the clothes I was wearing in a plastic bag. They’ll go out with the trash this Thursday.

Just kidding.

Today

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

Today, the world attacked me. “Hello,” it said as I crossed my legs. “Hello, this is the world.

“This is life.” In all its gory glory.

I’m pretty much to the point of general acceptance. “Okay, my plants are dead. Okay, my world is a mess. And all the universe gave me was an opportunity to move in with my mother.”

I read this poem the other day, and I will only relay a part. The important part:

“Imagine if a smile could make your day
because it meant someone saw your humanity.
Imagine if you made someone’s day
with your smile that recognizes their humanity.”

And you’re sitting there–or I’m sitting there–or we’re sitting there. And we’re across from a friend, simply sitting and having a beer. Where is the humanity? Who is this person across from us? They are a brother, a wife, a friend. Daily. But fundamentally, what? Who? An amalgamation of forgotten dreams? A ball of perceptions and impressions? No, not merely. Then what? This is our plague. The unknown answer to the question we forget to formulate, let alone ask.

I know so many people. I talk to so many people, and what does it mean? Do I know them? Do I recognize the miniscule yet indispensible traits that make them so unique and lovable? And if I do, what then? Does that even get me anywhere?

I do fear that it is that which is so unique and adorable (root: to adore) that we so often neglect in the day to day.

Or it is the deep seated story of a best friend before you know them that is so defining and yet unknown. This is humanity. Humanity begs for change, buys a beer, a carrot, a dog. It is what is so often forgotten as we retreat in our solipsist self-absorption. It is the unknown of those I know that hit me today. It was what I didn’t even know about myself.

And that’s–that’s–how my day was.

Susie J's Life Lessons

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

re: dinner parties

1. The Venn diagram of dinner parties that includes my father should never again overlap with the Venn diagram that includes the word “polyamorous.”

2. Cold mashed potatoes should be warmed in the oven longer than ten minutes.

3. Get soy milk. Just in case.

4. Legos are a fun and easy conversation piece for company sloshed and sober alike. Cranium is an entertaining, but fairly slow game–to be coupled with drinking.

5. Nutmeg is good for more than just eggnog and cookies.

6. Placing your sister’s picture in front of the vase of flowers in the middle of the table is a poor substitute for her presence; instead it serves as a rather morbid suggestion.

I did it.

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

I survived Christmas without my sister.

I mentioned to my mother that a friend had surmised that Alex and I had known each other in a past life or two. She agreed wholeheartedly, and added that “according to [our] positions in the mundane spread,” I actually am in debt to my sister karmically. She thinks that’s why I was so worried about Alex spending Christmas alone.

It makes sense. I’d give Alex my arm, or even my liver! Or some other organ that might do her more good. Anything she needed.

My mom totally gave away my Christmas stocking.

Posted on by Jennifer Heller

Appalled at my emotional reaction, she asked, “Did you think we were going to fill it?!”

I said, “No, I figured out that wasn’t going to happen when I was seven. But I still liked to hang it up.”

And what about my kids?!!

I am left with no other choice but to take up yarn and needles, and painstakingly knit Christmas stockings for my children, who are, sadly, as yet unborn.