Alexis and I were talking this morning, and she mentioned that her wrist was hurting. I put some medication on it, and she took a Tylenol. We’re going to keep a close eye on it. I also reminded her to move and stretch her wrist when she’s at the computer. I noticed it was her right wrist that was bothering her, the same hand she uses for the computer mouse.

That led to a little conversation. She asked me who even uses their left hand for the mouse. I told her that technically it would be her and her sister, since they’re both left-handed. But I also explained that I taught them to use their right hand for the mouse because that’s what’s most common and often more practical. The same goes for things like cutting with scissors. I like that they’re both left-handed, but I did guide them to use their right hand for certain tasks where the world is clearly designed with right-handed people in mind.

It got me thinking about myself. I’m right-handed, but I use my left hand for a lot of things. Both of my parents are left-handed, and now both of my girls are too. My mom, however, was taught to use her right hand growing up because the left hand was considered the “dirty” hand. That makes me wonder, did she pass that on to me without even realizing it? Did she train me to favor my right hand over my left?

I’ve also been wondering if journaling is self-indulgent. I mean, when you journal, you spend a lot of time thinking about yourself, your thoughts, your feelings, your reactions. On the surface, that can feel a little uncomfortable, almost like you’re navel-gazing or giving yourself too much attention.

I’m not someone who likes to call attention to myself, and I don’t usually talk about myself very much. I suppose journaling gives me a safe, quiet space where I’m allowed to do that, to reflect, to be honest, and to say things I might not otherwise say out loud.

But I’m starting to think there’s a difference between being self-indulgent and being self-reflective. Journaling isn’t about inflating your ego or ignoring the world around you; it’s about slowing down long enough to notice what’s actually going on inside. It’s a way to process experiences instead of carrying them around unresolved. By putting things on paper, you’re not just focusing on yourself; you’re making sense of your place in the world, your relationships, and how you respond to what life throws at you.

My arms are sore from weightlifting yesterday, the kind of sore where lifting a coffee mug feels like a personal challenge. Even brushing my teeth this morning made my muscles ache! We use an app to guide our workouts. It tells us exactly which exercise to do and how much weight to use. Sometimes I’m convinced the app is on crack, because the suggested weight feels wildly optimistic. Still, I usually give it an honest try before humbling myself and quietly lowering the weight like, “Let’s not get injured today.”

Tonight is leg day, which Tommy and I are doing together. I would like to formally state that I do not enjoy leg day. Legs are rude. They wobble, they burn, and they make stairs feel like a trap afterward. Upper body workouts, though? Love them. Arms, shoulders, back, those are my people. Legs, however, are tolerated at best and deeply resented at worst. You would think leg day would be easiest, considering legs are usually stronger than arms, but it really isn’t! There are lots and lots of lunges. I’m just not fond of lunges.

I thought the bruises on my arm might make working out harder, but I barely noticed them. They didn’t hurt unless I touched them. My knee, though, that’s a different story. It hurts a little when I walk, and definitely if I touch it. I’m starting to wonder if that knee bruise is going to make my workouts a bit more challenging.

The house is unusually quiet today. Tommy and Kel are at work, and Alex is at school, he goes on Mondays and Wednesdays, so the silence was scheduled in advance. Karissa is buried in her schoolwork, Alexis is glued to her computer, and even the animals have disappeared for their daily secret meeting and nap.

It’s the kind of quiet where you start to wonder if something is wrong… or if you should enjoy it while it lasts, because any minute now someone will need something, knock something over, or yell from another room. For now, though, the house is calm, peaceful, and suspiciously well-behaved.

I turned some music on for a little background noise, just enough to keep the silence from feeling too loud. It can’t be turned up much, though. If it gets too loud, my brain immediately forgets its job and starts paying attention to the music instead of studying. So now it’s that perfect in-between volume: loud enough to keep me company, quiet enough that I can still think.

Karissa just paid her medical bills. She was not thrilled about it; there was no confetti, no sense of joy, and definitely no feeling of accomplishment. Just quiet resentment and a deep sigh. But she did it. The bills are paid, the healthcare system has been temporarily appeased, and Karissa lived to tell the tale. A true adulting milestone… unfortunately. Her next bill will be for the heart monitor. I’m kind of afraid to see that bill. She had to wear a heart monitor for two weeks, and they will bill her for the usage of that monitor.

We rescheduled our haircuts for the 24th, me, Kel, and the girls, and I am counting down the days. I can’t wait to get my hair cut. It feels long overdue, like my hair and I have been in a very committed but slightly resentful relationship.

After the big day, I’m going all in on hair care. I need to do a pre-shampoo coconut oil treatment and follow it up with a deep conditioning session. I used to do this, but after I bleached my hair and the hair got too damaged, I stopped. I also have a bond-repair leave-in conditioner ready to go.

I really want popcorn, but I’m not quite motivated enough to make popcorn. The desire is strong, the effort tolerance is… not. Maybe tomorrow will be the day I live my popcorn dreams.

In the meantime, I should probably put some clothes away before the laundry pile officially becomes a new piece of furniture. It’s starting to look a little too intentional, like I meant to create a “clothes mountain.” If I do it real quick now, future me will be very grateful, assuming future me remembers this moment at all.