i found the only barrel pants that don't make me look like a clown

on anger and winning

I’ve been talking about barrel pants a lot lately. In fact, I should’ve titled this week’s Everything Is Fine “The Tyranny of Barrel Jeans” since I uttered that phrase approximately 30 times in three minutes and then (maybe worse?) was too lazy to cut these repeated attempts to ratchet up the intensity of a milquetoast topic even Kim said we should drop.

It’s all part of a larger theme of my life lately — reacting in disproportionate ways to things that don’t matter in order to disassociate from things that do. It’s unnerving to be old and self aware enough to know your own patterns, to observe the initiation of chaos in real time and still feel somewhat powerless to stop it. Aging is full of surprises — just because I’m wiser, doesn’t mean I can’t unwisely fuck my shit up.

I got into it with a dumb person this week, or at least an insecure person who’s acting dumb because they’re seemingly lost and afraid. Said person called me out inappropriately, got right up in my professional face. Even as I was catching it, I knew the ego-poisoned bait he was tossing was not worth it; that it was just another game of grim-feelings hot potato we’ve all been playing at since January, a reminder to be gentle with ourselves and each other, to grow softer when we feel hard, if only we could.

Maybe like you, I’ve been extra pissed off at all the silly stuff — airline fees, kid school protocols, another goddamn spreadsheet. The anger feels active, a false sense of power hiding the terror, a distraction at least.