mommy, mommy, watch me twirl
Honey, I'm home.
For the past two and half years, I’ve been keeping a diary in a Google doc. The content is too boring to be salacious and the word count is neither high nor low enough to be significant. But calling it a diary has removed some of the pressure to write something interesting. I’m actually writing this draft in the diary doc right now, and if I end up publishing it, it will be the first newsletter I’ve sent out in two and a half years. I would say I’ve spent that time writing for myself, but I’m trying to lie less. (It’s not like I lie often. Just when it makes me look good or feel better. )
Keeping a diary is performance art. In the same way I can’t read a book without thinking about how smart I am for reading a book, I cannot keep a diary without fantasizing about it being read. In this sense, I am always thinking about others (noble), and when I am tangentially involved in some kind of tragedy, all of my perfect thoughts leading up to the incident will already be formatted to publish (considerate).
There’s a group of mourning doves that’s been hanging out in my backyard a lot. Did you know it’s “mourning” and not “morning”? Yeah, me too. I think they meet regularly to talk about me because, as a book review once stated, I am my own most important subject. That only hurt my feelings because it’s true and I only bring it up now to convince myself I’m over it. My dog just half-heartedly chased the birds away. Sometimes she pretends to enjoy doing dog things even though she doesn’t. She likes to play in the space but only if someone’s watching. Just like mommy :)
If this is our first time meeting, hi! I’m Mia. I’m a writer from the Midwest. I’ve published two essay collections, Weird But Normal and She’s Nice Though, and written for places like the Cut, The New Yorker, and McSweeney’s. As I mentioned, it’s been a while, but this newsletter started as a place for me to wax psychotic about the delicious garbage I’ve recently consumed. It will probably continue to be some variation of that, but maybe sometimes it will be about the things that are consuming me. Ouroboros vibes 😗✌️
Anyway, sorry I’m late. Here’s what I’d like to order for the table:
Baked Oats
The rumors are true: I’m trying to get more fiber in my diet. Most mornings……..okay, most mid-mornings I add a scoop of Metamucil to some fucked up looking green juice that I top off with sparkling water and chug. This does not pair well with my new breakfast food fixation (baked oats) but, nevertheless, she etc. etc.
There are probably better ways to make baked oats, but this is what I’ve been doing:
Blend a half cup of old-fashioned oats, a quarter cup of milk, one egg, a teaspoon-ish of baking powder, and a squeeze of honey. Sometimes I add a little cocoa powder to be cute. I use an immersion blender in a tall cup. All the recipes recommend a high-power blender, but that seems like too much work to clean.
Dumpy the blended goo into a greased, oven-safe ramekin.
Add some toppings. Yesterday, I did blueberries, lemon, and chia seeds. Today, I did peanut butter. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try brown sugar and cinnamon?! omg she’s so crazy! Do what you need to do to trick yourself into thinking you’re eating cake.
Bake at 350 F for 25-ish minutes. This is a great time to chug your fucked up fiber juice.
Let the oats cool for at least five minutes or you’ll ruin the roof of your mouth.
Enjoy! Until you’re 3/4 of the way finished with your baked oats. Then, you’ll need to power through that last bit before you think too much about the texture.
Watercolor Painting
I’ve been thinking a lot about this TikTok from Nia Òla about slow hobbies in a culture of hyper-convenience. I’ve also been trying to rebuild a sustainable daily routine after my depression shitted all over me the last couple of years. Part of my current routine is doing an ugly little watercolor in the morning, preferably outside while the doves are holding their daily meeting. Sometimes, I mess up and accidentally make something gorgeous.
Innerspace (1987)
How many times do you need to think “this could be important to me” before that thing is definitely important to you, because I have that with Martin Short. Innerspace is a sci-fi comedy from before I was born. (I’m bragging.) It’s essentially Honey, I Shrunk the Dennis Quaid and Now He’s Inside Martin Short’s Innards. The movie is bad in a fun way, and it reminded me that I don’t know what the inside of my body looks like, which I hate. That seems like it should be my business.
An Evening of Bad Poetry
For those in the Kansas City area, local sweetie Emily Farris has organized a Bad Poetry reading on Saturday, April 19 at 7 pm. If you’d like to indulge in the sacred art of public humiliation with me, you can buy tickets and get more info here.
LYLAS,
Mia