322,016 Stories I Didn't Write (and Why I'm Full of Sh*t)
Bonus: You can vote on whether or not I was right to keep that drivel to myself
I’m trying an experiment: Here’s an audio version of this story if you’d rather listen than read. It is most decidedly of very poor audio quality and may include Rufus purring and knocking over things on my desk.
I’ve started approximately 322,016 stories for you since the last time I wrote a newsletter two and a half months ago, and I have published exactly zero of them — just slightly below my goal of once a week (or once a month, whichever seemed feasible at the moment). As you can see, I set impossibly high standards for myself; I am a virtual paragon of self-discipline.
Alas, I have not achieved my lofty “whenever I fucking feel like it” writing goals as of late. Instead of apologies, I offer here the solid rationales, reasons, justifications and explanations for my literary shortcomings; most of which are wrapped in a thin veneer of creative fabrications, aka bullshit. After each segment you will have a chance to vote on whether or not I was right to keep that shit-piffle to myself.
Some of the Things I Started to Write About But Then Didn’t
1. My Dad died.
I started writing about Dad’s death way before it actually happened because it’s been happening since October 2020 in a looooong, nerve-racking, bone-chilling, plunge into the vile and undignified abyss of dementia. For five grueling years we lost him over and over again, every time the dementia demon took another little bite out of who he was. I chose not to share my stories of the relentless and baffling obstacles involved in maneuvering through Medicaid, how I tried repeatedly to navigate The System to ensure I had set up his medical trust accounts to be funded properly (I had not), or how we helplessly watched him get kicked out of one memory facility after another for behaving exactly the way that people with dementia always behave.
Why didn’t I write about it?
Good Lord, how can you ask that after reading the previous horrifying paragraph? My Substack category is HUMOR, not nightmarish stories of grim mental declines that could befall any one of us in the future. How was I supposed to make that shit funny? My buddy Kristen (you remember Kristen from the “she and her son and her pets and her house washed away in the Kerrville flood” saga) is going through a similarly hellish journey with a loved one. Together, we can occasionally find a bit of gallows humor in our exasperating experiences but I didn’t think stories titled, “He Pooped in His Roommate’s Shoes,” or “He Punched a Woman in the Face Because She Wouldn’t Let Him Steal her Pudding Cup,” would resonate with many of you. At least I fucking hope not.
2. What I have learned in my medical training from the esteemed University of YouTube.
As part of renovating myself into the very manifestation of a strong and healthy Goddess form, I have devoted a great deal of time and energy to learning everything I can about increasing longevity and healthspan. (Healthspan is the buzzy new idea that we don’t just want a long lifespan, we want to live healthy, productive, active lives right up until the day we drop dead while completing our very last Bucket List item at the age of 102). Naturally, in my quest for a Master’s or Doctorate level education, I have turned to the finest institution of higher learning on the planet today, namely, YouTube. Just this week, I learned that every single spike in insulin levels (most of us have multiple spikes per day), chips away at our life expectancy and brain health, BUT there are four easy hacks that will allow you to balance your insulin levels without making drastic dietary changes. I also learned that new 2025 research data indicates flossing your teeth daily cuts your chances of dementia by HALF due to controlling bacteria and improving gut health. Those are real things; click the links to learn more.
Why I haven’t written more about this?
Much of the reason I’ve been doing these deep dives into the YouTube University pool is because they are seemingly worthwhile and pious but are actually distractions from doing the writing I resolved to do when I re-retired a year ago. When I share unsolicited Vital Health and Wellness info with you, I get all amped up and feel evangelical — like I’m being very productive and helpful when in reality, I’m just perpetuating my colossal avoidance tendencies. Just this week, I avoided writing a single word of my alleged book, And Yet I Married Him Anyway - the Memoir of a Magically Flawed Marriage, while listening to roughly 112 hours of YouTube podcasts. Because procrastination is a full time job and I take it very seriously.
3. Current Events
As a sentient being, you may have noticed that the world, and especially the American portion of the world, is a complete and utter shitastrophe right now. As a sentient being with a Substack platform, albeit a teeny-tiny one, I feel like I should speak up/speak out against the human rights atrocities that are being perpetrated by the orange, diapered, fuckwit in our gold-plated White House and his merry band of felons and fascists across every strata of government. On a daily basis, I start posts railing against ICE, the so-called Supreme Court, Pete Kegsbreath, Kristi Gnome, Stephen “Goebbels the House Elf” Miller and the other ilk doing their best to turn the US into 1930’s Germany, only to abandon the story mid-rant.
Why don’t I write about dreadful current events?
My stated mission with Stuff and Thangs is to share “Mostly funny stuff about my quest for happiness through stories, art, friendship, Great Danes, one naked weirdo alien cat and plenty of indiscriminate swearing,” and while I could definitely go heavy on the indiscriminate swearing whilst discussing current events, it would decidedly NOT be ‘mostly funny.’ Many talented writers, comedians, and pundits are managing to turn the day’s events into hilariously scathing and informative stories and I don’t feel like I’d be adding value to the discourse that they have already so eloquently covered. I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring the collapse of democracy around us — I’m fully and loudly protesting the fuckery, I’m just not doing it here because you might want to come here for an escape from that sewage.
4. Whether wanting to move to Canada makes me a visionary or a chickenshit
Based on what I just said about current events and given the fact that I see the Pacific Northwest as one of God’s most brilliant natural creations, it didn’t take a big leap for me to consider a move toward the greener, cooler, more level-headed, human-rights-abiding pastures of Canada. But I’m conflicted.
On the one hand, leaving would demonstrate to our daughter how it’s possible to bravely forge a whole new life when much of your current life is toxic and dangerous. I would want her to leave an abusive relationship and that is what life in the US has become.
On the other hand, abandoning friends, loved ones and our whole country, leaving them to deal with the utter collapse of society while we go live a dream life on an island in BC has a pretty cowardly vibe. Like, the dodging Vietnam because of “bone spurs” kind of cowardly vibe.
Why didn’t I write about wanting to move to Canada?
Because Oh-my-God-the-Caucacity-of-it-all. The vast majority of people in ‘Merica don’t have the ability/privilege to even contemplate this choice, so I shouldn’t be whining about how hard the decision is. Oh, and also: not funny. But definitely would qualify as part of my quest for happiness.
The Really Real Reason for Not Writing About These Things
The gut-wrenching truth of why I haven’t written about any/all of these topics is self-doubt. I doubt I can make serious topics funny. I doubt readers will relate to my world. I doubt anyone will want to read about my life — seriously, a book about my marriage for fuck’s sake? I doubt my capacity to show up as my authentic self without censoring the shitty parts. (Contrary to what my husband insists, I actually DO possess both a filter and an innate sense of self-preservation in how I present myself to the world).
And lastly, I doubt that I am a good enough writer. That’s not false modesty or a thirst trap in search of praise — I know I’m good — but what if I’m not good enough, what if I’m not … Great? For me, that’s the truly paralyzing, writer’s-blocking fear.
If I admit that to you here, will that make it go away? I doubt it.
If flossing is a factor, it’s surprising I can still dress myself.
Here the deal write when you want what you want that's it. me I understand ;some times I really want to stay in bed and read or watch mysteries on TV but I said to myself it could be better or worse like living in Minneapolis with minus 30 degrees temperature and have highways no morals killer's shooting for their pleasure innocent people and following woldermort orders yes the one who shall not be named then I say to myself NO I AM NOT GOING TO !!! live in ignorance that what those horrible trolls want so many young people died
to protect us against tyranny so even if their is nothing I could do i want to be there and try to live and enjoy my freedom until who knows?? I am French and proudly SOCIALIST.!!!!