I’m genuinely trying to take deep breaths and just be, but I really suck at this magical thing called “chill”. This post is being dropped on both my and my Conk’s Brain Substacks because I have burned my proverbial candle at both ends yet again. Being neurodivergent can be a giant pain in my ass some days. The flip side of intense spurts of passionate creativity is equally passionate and intense burn out.

Writing makes me happy. The very strategic algorithm I have curated on Instagram makes me happy. Setting the system on fire with a blow torch makes me happy. Facebook does not make me happy. That place is a cesspool of rage bait and some of the most obtuse people (and bots) I have ever met in my life. I never should have re-activated my account.

Right now, I am so overwhelmed that the balance of my brain has gone full chaos gremlin. I’m feeling exceeding kinship to the purple minions right now.

Between my attempts at creating 3 posts a week for Fashion Rebel Nation, creating social media posts, trying to get my pantry in order for the forthcoming retail shortages, taking care of a broken window and a leaking toilet, going to my very part time day job (which I actually love), and trying to pre-pare for a relative moving into our upstairs, I am exhausted as shit. Being chronically ill and neurodivergent is zero stars, would not recommend. I haven’t even done my nails in a while, and that’s something I truly look forward to.

I’ve got to take a step back, or maybe just flip over on my back and float for a little while as opposed to attempting a Michael Phelps with the free style. Writing is my soul food, getting sucked into the perpetual social media grind is not. Being present in the real world, sitting outside with the sunshine on my face, connecting with actual human beings - that’s the ticket to finding some balance with the inner gremlin.

I’m backing up to writing once or twice a week (if I’m feeling up to it) and I’m de-activating Facebook again. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, if Substack allowed us to schedule notes, I’d drop all my social media and just be here. Scheduling allows me to write and create content when I’m feeling it and not have to log on every single day.

I’d also love it if Substack allowed us to limit comments to free subscribers (right now you can only restrict it to paid subscribers or leave it open for everyone, no in between).

I’m considering moving to Patreon, because that platform offers all of those options. We’ll see. If you have any thoughts, ideas, or suggestions regarding this, I’m all ears.

Until next time, cut yourself some slack my fellow chaos gremlins. The world is really heavy right now, it’s ok to sit down every once in a while.

Hey friends,

You know me — I’ve got a brain full of ideas, stories, opinions, and occasionally… glitter.

I’ve just launched a new little corner of the internet called Fashion Rebel Nation — and it’s my official side quest.

It’s a Substack for the bold, the weird, the ones who’ve been told they’re too much. It’s where I’ll be writing about beauty, fashion, and self-expression — with plenty of rebel energy, poetry, product picks, and the occasional rant about why gendered clothing is stupid.

Basically:

If Conk’s Brain is where I dig deep into the world and my soul…

Fashion Rebel Nation is where I show up in glitter and eyeliner and say, “Screw it, let’s be fabulous and take up space.”

If that sounds like your vibe, I’d love to have you there.

You can subscribe (for free!)

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Come for the makeup. Stay for the revolution.

Big love,

Deedre

(Still weird. Just shinier.)

A proverbial fist full of glitter,
a willfully defiant heart -
I breathe life into the silences,
stoke tiny embers in the dark.
Even in my sorrow,
I feel the rise and swell of joy.

Two things can be true at once -
singing songs of hope while we toil.

Fight on, fight on.
Brass knuckles on our fingers,
Dancing shoes on our feet.

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So, I did a thing. I started a YouTube series. It’s called The Chronicles of a Semi-functional Human, which is honestly just a fancy way of saying “watch me try to juggle life without dropping everything… again.”

Why am I doing this? Because staying accountable is hard when you’re doing it alone. Because I keep saying I want to write more, clean my house, read books, make art, and eat food that didn’t come out of a drive-thru window—but then I blink and somehow another week has gone by. Because I’m tired of feeling stuck in the chaos of good intentions and zero follow-through.

So this series is part vlog, part confession booth, part motivational pep talk (to myself, mostly—but you’re welcome to borrow it). Each week I’ll check in on my goals—writing, decluttering, reading, creating, actually eating vegetables—and share the ups, downs, and general weirdness along the way.

And speaking of goals—this post right here? It’s one of them. I committed to writing two pieces per week consistently, and we are doing the damn thing. You can expect a poem later this week too, because apparently I like to cry and call it art. Stay tuned.

Here’s the first episode:

(Feel free to subscribe if you want to witness the transformation… or the slow spiral. Either way, it’ll be entertaining.)

Also, I’m currently 29% of the way to my $170 Ko-fi goal to get a Weebly professional site builder subscription a real domain name (because deedreconkey.weebly.com/slightlychaoticmess doesn’t have the same ring to it). I’m seriously so grateful to the amazing humans showing me love and support—one coffee at a time. You’re helping me grow this little dream into something real.

Thanks for being here. Seriously.

If you have ideas or suggestions for things you’d like to see on my YouTube (songs, interpretive dance, poetry readings) or maybe something you’d like me to pen a poem or article about, definitely leave a comment.

Enjoy this post? If you’d like to support my work, consider tipping the cost of a cup or coffee on Ko-fi! Chronic illnesses keep me from working a traditional 9-to-5, so your support helps fund everything from fixing up my 100-year-old house to fueling road trip adventures. Click the button to see my current fundraising goal and how your tips are making a difference.

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I am so many people,
in only one body -
Always trying to be heard over the 
noise, noise, noise.
Fold my hands, put them in my pockets,
talk with them out loud.
I never could figure out what to do with them when
I’m nervous, or cold, or just plain scared.
Do I seem normal to you?
What is normal?
I don’t think I know anymore, or maybe,
just don’t care anymore.
It doesn’t really matter.
Sometimes I wish I were tongue tied,
fastly bound,
completely mute.
Because then, I’d have to try really hard
to say anything -
instead of just letting everything
fall out without thinking.
I am
I am
Iam
unable to finish that sentiment,
for lack of an ability to sit still in the dark.

Poem found in a notebook from college, written somewhere between 2003-2007.

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I’m not sure how many times a person can use the struggle bus metaphor before it becomes woefully insufficient. Things are precarious at best as of late my friends. The government is crumbling before our eyes, my taxes are seriously screwed up and I have no idea how to fix it, and nobody can seem to figure out why my south forty is on fire. No matter how dire a circumstance most topics are at least somewhat breachable in polite conversation. Historically speaking, however, the mere mention of female anatomy sends grown adults screaming for the hills. It’s quite absurd really, and there isn’t an accurate number for how many women suffer from a myriad of health crises in silence because of this taboo.

Vagina isn’t a dirty word, but you wouldn’t know that from the look of horror etched in people’s faces when it’s said aloud. For the last (looks at watch) nineteen days my lady box has burned with the fire of a thousand suns. The pain goes from at least tolerable to agonizing, feel it in my teeth, hands shaking, black spots inducing, kill me now torture. It has wreaked havoc on my sleep, stolen my productivity, my social life, and my dignity. The doctor has confirmed that I don’t have a UTI, an STD, or a bacterial infection. I’ve taken three full courses of three different antibiotics and am on a regimen of supplements including a vaginal health probiotic, something to strengthen a weak bladder, something to prevent bacteria from sticking to my urethra, and more recently, both vaginal estrogen and an estrogen patch all to no avail.

I have been referred to an OBGYN, but they can’t even see me for two weeks and I can nearly guarantee you that visit will be an abject waste of my time. How do I know this? Personal experience and the lived experiences of millions of women everywhere. If you take to Google looking for answers about calamities tied to women’s health, you will find hundreds and thousands of women sobbing and beating the walls declaring practically the same thing, “No one is listening, no one is helping”. I have personally talked to dozens of women who echo this sentiment and have their own stories of neglect and abuse at the hands of an inept medical system.

Most of us do exactly what I’m doing right now, scour the internet in search of answers and share our experiences so that we may reclaim some shred of dignity and find that we are not alone. Based on preliminary research of medical journals and other women’s first hand accounts, I have settled on two possibilities. First is vaginal atrophy, more recently known as genitourinary syndrome of menopause. A staggering 50% of menopausal women will struggle with this to some degree, and yet very few people are talking about it.

I had a total hysterectomy in 2018 - uterus, cervix, and ovaries. I was not given hormone replacement therapy at first because of my complex medical history. About three years ago, I was given the lowest possible dose of Estradiol, but it didn’t help as far as I could tell, so I went off of it. Fast forward to today where I learned that there are estrogen receptors on our bladders and urethra AND vaginal atrophy can wreak serious havoc causing many of the symptoms of a chronic UTI. Why the hell has this never been mentioned to me by a doctor? When I mentioned this to my general practitioner, she said that it’s not possible for my issue to be related because of the sudden onset. What? This is not sudden. Yes, this particular problem presented itself about 18 days ago, but I’ve been without a uterus for nearly seven years now. Can we not consider the possibility?

The second feasible option I’ve come across is interstitial cystitis. Interstitial cystitis (or IC, for those of us who are tired of big medical words) is basically when your bladder decides to be an overdramatic little bitch for no good reason. It’s a chronic condition that makes you feel like you have a UTI all the time — but surprise! There’s no infection. Just pain, maybe some agonizing burning, pressure, and the constant urge to pee like you drank six gallons of water, even if you didn’t. There’s no specific, conclusive test, and treatment mostly comes down to trial and error.

So, I’m currently sitting at the “wait and see” depot waiting for a train that might never arrive trying desperately to hold onto some semblance of normality while my lady box continues to burn. Every fiber of my being is a raw nerve and now, the government is saying they issued a refund on my taxes which they 100% did not, and the amount they supposedly issued is off by several thousand dollars. My tax preparer isn’t giving me any conclusive answers or direction on what to do now, and the government as we know it continues to crumble around us. Sounds about like a Thursday, am I right?

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Hey friends,

I’m throwing out a tiny but mighty request today: Would you toss $3 my way? That’s it. The cost of a gas station cup of coffee. The kind that’s questionably labeled “premium” but mostly just tastes like burnt ambition.

Why? Because $170 gets me a full year of Weebly Pro and a proper domain—a solid foundation for my work. Substack has been a great launchpad, but here’s the truth: I don’t own it. And meaningful work deserves a permanent home.

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With my own site, I can:

👉House all my essays, poetry, and weekly series like Wisdom Wednesday in one place.

👉Create sections for extras—like the downloadable coloring pages you’ve enjoyed.

👉Build a community hub with more flexibility, free from platform limitations.

I’m giving it my all to build a space where we can keep being weird, rebellious, and honest—on our terms. And the best part? You can help make it happen for less than the cost of stale convenience store brew.

If you’ve ever read a post that made you snort, cry, or feel a little less alone, consider dropping a donation on Ko-fi. Every $3 gets me closer to a platform that gives my words room to grow.

P.S. You can check out the site right now at deedreconkey.weebly.com. The Weebly Pro subscription will let me add high-def visuals and audio, unlimited storage, and site search—so you can actually find what you’re looking for. Basically, imagine the site bigger, better, and 50% shinier—all because of your donation. 💙

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P.P.S. Not a Ko-fi fan? You can also send a one-time donation through Venmo to Deedre-Conkey —because generosity comes in many forms (and apps). 💙

Venmo

Hello friends, you many have noticed that my curated posts have come to a screeching halt as of late. I hit a figurative brick wall with my face and am having some difficulty climbing over it. So, here’s the scoop:

First I got a very manageable part time job (10-15 hours a week) doing the books for a very nice business owner here in town. This is yay! Shortly thereafter, I got ensnared in yet another medical drama. This is not yay. And I’m sad to report, this is ongoing.

Forewarned is fair warned, there’s about to be some medical talk and discussion of chronic pain and mental health, so if you’re not up for that today, it’s ok if you want to sit this one out.

For those who don’t know, I only have one kidney. I was born with a birth defect and my second kidney spent most of my life trying to kill me, so just before my 21st birthday, it was removed. Let’s just say that I am no stranger to a UTI and if you’ve never had one of those, count your blessings, trust me. On Thursday the 6th, I went into the doctor thinking that I had a routine UTI (spoiler alert, it was not). They sent my urine off to the big lab to be tested for specific bacteria and that too came back negative, so they put me on a couple of meds just to be on the safe side.

I’ve spent the last week Googling interstitial cystitis - translation god damn it, not again. A few years back I had a deeply unfortunate episode which was chalked up to probably IC and somehow I worked my way through it over the course of a couple months. Interstitial cystitis (or IC, for those of us who are tired of big medical words) is basically when your bladder decides to be an overdramatic little bitch for no good reason. It’s a chronic condition that makes you feel like you have a UTI all the time — but surprise! There’s no infection. Just pain, maybe some agonizing burning, pressure, and the constant urge to pee like you drank six gallons of water, even if you didn’t. Doctors aren’t entirely sure what causes it, and there’s no magic cure, which makes living with it a real party (by party, I mean nightmare). Couple this with all my past medical trauma and proclivity for panic attacks and congratulations, you’ve got a runaway train full of napalm.

The cherry on top of this shit Sunday: a Hemiplegic migraine which is like a regular migraines’ evil twin — but rarer and way more dramatic. Instead of just a crushing headache (because of course that’s not enough), they can cause temporary paralysis or weakness on one side of your body, along with slurred speech, vision changes, and general “am I having a stroke?” vibes. They’re terrifying, unpredictable, and about as fun as a root canal without anesthesia. And because life loves to stack the deck, the stress of dealing with interstitial cystitis has officially triggered one for me. So now my body’s like, “Oh, you wanted to function today? LOL, no.”

And because my body isn’t done throwing a full-on rebellion, let’s talk about the panic attacks. Panic attacks aren’t just “feeling anxious” — they’re like your brain hitting a giant red emergency button, flooding you with adrenaline, and making you feel like you’re dying right now, even if you know you’re technically safe. What a lot of people don’t realize is that extreme medical trauma can leave you with something a lot like PTSD — so when new health crises hit (like interstitial cystitis and hemiplegic migraine), it drags all that old fear and helplessness right back to the surface. Suddenly, you’re not just dealing with physical pain — you’re gasping for air, heart racing, body shaking, as if it’s all happening again. It’s exhausting, terrifying, and completely invisible from the outside — which makes it all the harder to explain.

So, I’m balancing all this fun and excitement with a new job and the shit show that is politics right now. I want to be brave and say I’ll be just fine, but the truth is, I’m on the bus of struggle. And let me tell you — it’s a bumpy ride, the shocks are shot, and I’m pretty sure the driver is a raccoon in a trench coat.

But I’m still on the bus. Still here. Still fighting. And if you’re hanging in there too, I’m so damn glad we’re on this ride together. Thanks for giving me the space to catch my breath when I need to, for reading my words when I can get them out, and for reminding me that even when life goes full dumpster fire, there are still people who care.

So yeah — I’ll keep writing when I can, and in the meantime, if you’re also on the struggle bus, scoot over. We’ll make room.

Enjoy this post? If you’d like to support my work, consider tipping the cost of a cup or coffee on Ko-fi! Chronic illnesses keep me from working a traditional 9-to-5, so your support helps fund everything from fixing up my 100-year-old house to fueling road trip adventures. Click the button to see my current fundraising goal and how your tips are making a difference.

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People-pleasing is a hell of a drug, and withdrawal is rough. We’re conditioned to smooth things over, keep quiet, and not rock the boat—even when that boat is actively sinking. But here’s the thing: silence is just compliance with a different name. Your discomfort is a flashing neon sign that something needs to change. Rip off the band-aid. Say the thing. Let the chips fall. Inner peace is a lot easier to find when you’re not stuffing your feelings into a toxic little dumpster fire.

So what uncomfortable truth do you need to say out loud today, my little chaos gremlins? Drop it in the comments or join the chat. It’s like group therapy, but free and way less awkward.

If you’ve got any spare change between the couch cushions, I’d be forever grateful if you’d spot me a coffee. Writing, community-building, and fighting the good fight don’t exactly come with a dental plan, so your couch change is greatly appreciated.

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This has been the longest year of my life and it’s still February. Sometimes it feels like we’re mucking through quicksand with bricks in our shorts, but hey we made it to Friday, so that’s a win 🥳

Here’s a weird but delightful little fact to tickle your tired brain:

👉 Butterflies drink turtle tears. In the Amazon rainforest, butterflies are often seen delicately perching on turtles’ faces, sipping their tears like a fine cocktail. Why? Because turtle tears contain salt, which butterflies need but struggle to find elsewhere. It’s a surprisingly wholesome example of nature’s weird little partnerships—unless you’re the turtle, in which case, it’s just free emotional labor.

A bite sized self-care challenge:

👀 Put on a song that makes you feel unstoppable. Lip-sync for your life like you’re the most fabulously misunderstood contestant on Drag Race. Bonus points if you use a hairbrush as a mic.

Now it’s time to go out there and commit a small but chaotic act of kindness:

❤️ Leave a cryptically encouraging note in a random place. Stick a Post-it on a public bathroom mirror that says, “You’re doing great. The pigeons have noticed.”

*******************

I’ll see you again next Friday for another dose of unhinged but holding on. Until then, keep it weird my friends!

Listen, I’m out here spilling my guts, making you laugh, and dropping weird turtle facts, and you’re telling me I don’t deserve a little caffeine money? 🤔 If you’ve ever cackled at my nonsense or thought, “Wow, this unhinged brilliance deserves financial encouragement,” now’s your chance. Tip me a cup of coffee on Ko-fi and help fuel my ability to keep oversharing on the internet.

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Hiatus sounds good,
paired with a very long nap -
a sigh of relief.

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Hot take: You are not required to have an opinion on every single thing. You don’t need a 10-minute TED Talk ready for every hot-button issue. You don’t even have to get why someone feels the way they do. But you do have to try not be a dick about it. Basic human decency costs exactly $0. Listening is free. Empathy is a renewable resource. There are plenty of assholes filling the void with unsolicited advice and general douchebagery, it’s ok to sit this one out my friend. If you have the spoons, just listen and then let it roll on past.

So where in your life can you replace judgment with curiosity this week, my little chaos gremlins? Drop it in the comments or join the chat. It’s like group therapy, but free and way less awkward.

Don’t mind me, I’m just over here running on sheer willpower and existential dread. If you’re enjoying my chaotic ruminations and want to keep me from succumbing to burnout, toss a sister a cup of coffee on Ko-fi. It’s like a caffeinated virtual hug ❤️

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It’s 5:13 a.m central time and I’ve had about 6 hours of sleep. I am a person who simply doesn’t function on less than 8, but I’m trying to re-establish my sleep schedule and I promised myself I would publish consistently hell or high water, so here I am, plugging away (don’t worry, I’m going back to bed for a bit after this piece is done).

The other day I was getting my steps in, jamming to some sweet tunes when “Ballroom Blitz” by Sweet came on. I can’t properly emphasize how forcefully I projected, “and the man in the back yelled everyone attack and it turned into a ballroom blitz” (if you’ve never heard it, go look it up right now, I’ll wait). I feel like this would be an appropriate anthem for politics right now. Every damn morning I wake up wondering what mayhem or atrocity awaits from just the night before.

Did you know that even the National Park Service has gone rouge? They operate under the Alt. National Park Service handle on BlueSky and are the self proclaimed official “resistance” team of the U.S. National Park Service. A group of dedicated federal workers are brining updates from the inside and a, sometimes cryptic, play by play of what’s happening behind the scenes. I find it equal measures comforting and terrifying that this even exists.

Turns out people don’t like having their rights systematically stripped away by a visibly corrupt oligarchy. Speaking of which, did you hear the one about the woman who was forcefully removed from a public town hall in Idaho? These forums are meant to be a place where people can ask questions of their elected representatives and they have been getting quite heated all across the country. Interrupting verbally, expressing dissent, is decidedly not illegal and Teresa Borrenpohl did not expect to be dragged from the assembly by unmarked and unidentified members of a private security team. I’m with Missouri activist Jess Piper on this one.

I don’t think there are enough words in the English language to express how insane all of this is. It can feel equal parts overwhelming, rage inducing, and absolutely baffling. So what can we do besides stress eating and watching the world burn? I’m not sure I have the right answer, but for my part, I am contacting my elected officials through ResistBot, reading news from sources not bought out by the oligarchy like , preparing to run for my local school board election, and informing whoever I can about exactly what is happening. As Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez has said, no action is too small, doing what you can absolutely matters.

Taking care of yourself and trying to stay sane is an act of rebellion in trying times. I’m going to publish this article then go back to bed for a bit and when I wake up, I’m taking a hot shower with the body wash that smells like watermelon, jamming out to some more tunes, and going to my first day of a new part time job. Nothing in life is guaranteed, but we have to embrace the small joys where we can find them. We have to hold onto our humanity with both hands and speak out about injustice in whatever ways we can, big or small.

Until next time my friends, keep fighting the good fight and don’t forget to wear the comfy socks.

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Who says affirmations have to be all sunshine and rainbows? Face today’s chaos with a snarky little coloring page designed to fuel your inner menace. Not a fan of coloring? No worries—just print it out, slap it on the wall, and let the grayscale vibes do the talking. I’m not judging.

Download Coloring Page

Enjoy this free coloring page? Think of tossing a coin to your local word gremlin on Ko-fi as an optional ‘gratitude tax.’ Your donation helps keep the lights on, the existential dread at bay, and my cats from judging me for eating ramen again.

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The weeks feel more and more like it’s human versus wildebeest and all we have to defend ourselves is sheer spite and a rusty spoon, but hey we made it to Friday so that’s a win 🥳

Here’s a weird but delightful little fact to tickle your tired brain:

👉 Wombat poop is cube-shaped. Science says it helps keep the poop from rolling away, but still… cube poop.

A bite sized self-care challenge:

👀 Download the Finch app and be my friend (or use code GFTQ85VRPJ4). It’s like Tomagochi meets mental health, but way more fun (and adorable).

Now it’s time to go out there and commit a small but chaotic act of kindness:

❤️ Compliment a stranger’s absurdly specific fashion choice. “Your socks? Absolutely iconic.”

*******************

I’ll see you again next Friday for another dose of unhinged but holding on. Until then, keep it weird my friends!

Enjoy this post? If you’d like to support my work, consider tipping the cost of a cup of coffee on Ko-fi! Your support helps fund everything from fixing up my 100-year-old house to fueling road trip adventures and offsetting surprise medical bills. Click the button to see my current fundraising goal and how your tips are making a difference.

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Conk’s Brain is a reader supported publication. Get new posts and updates delivered straight to your inbox, and fill my heart with the warm fuzzies when you subscribe 👇

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I don’t remember what it’s like to not be tired.
My bones are weary with the weight of expectation.
People aren’t meant to live with soul crushing uncertainty,
day in and day out without reprieve.
How do I turn my face to the sunshine on the dark days, 
the sky ominously gray.
Absurdity and cruelty crouch in every corner,
huddled and shivering,
waiting to clutch onto my arm with icy hands. 

Faith in humanity is a conscious choice,
a deliberate commitment to climbing uphill
against the wind.

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Plans are over rated. My executive dysfunction gives zero fucks about a bullet journal or meticulously crafted plots and let’s be honest, the universe loves to keep us guessing with curveballs out of nowhere. You don’t have to know where you are going to get started. Some of the best road trips are born when a full tank of gas and a bag of Twizzlers hit the road and just see where it goes from there. Stop overthinking it and just head in the direction of a tiny spark of joy. Who knows what will happen, but it definitely won’t be boring.

What’s the best unplanned adventure you’ve ever had? Drop it in the comments or join the chat. It’s like group therapy, but free and way less awkward.

Enjoy this post? If you’d like to support my work, consider tipping the cost of a cup of coffee on Ko-fi! Your support helps fund everything from fixing up my 100-year-old house to fueling road trip adventures and offsetting surprise medical bills. Click the button to see my current fundraising goal and how your tips are making a difference.

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I read somewhere that the average American owns around 300,000 items. Most people I’ve shared this fact with have reacted in a similar manner - not possible. There’s no way we actually have that much shit lying around our houses, right? But think about it, if you count every single paper clip, tube of chapstick, pair of pants, and impulse purchase off the TikTok shop, it very quickly adds up to a mountain of stuff. I don’t know about you, but this pursuit of plenty has left me anything but joyful.

My neurodivergent brain constantly seeks dopamine, and what gives a faster hit than clicking add to cart, or picking up that shiny bobble at the flea market? It’s a temporary rush and then, nada (or maybe guilt), and trust that it’s not just neurodivergent folk getting thrown into the meat grinder of capitalism. We live to work and work to buy, repeat until death.

I recently abandoned TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook not just because they have questionable scruples, but also because ads. Oh my god, the incessant, never ending barrage of BUY THIS STUFF is mind numbing. I have a love hate relationship with YouTube for the same reason. Can I please just watch a damn video without being accosted by commercials? It’s exhausting.

With everything in the world burning like a trash fire and the US government standing by with an industrial tanker truck of gasoline, shit’s getting a little to Lord of the Flies for my taste. It’s got me looking around at my life and reevaluating a few things. Do I really need all this stuff? Will buying more make me happy? Am I just one area rug away from nirvana? Probably not.

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In order to establish a bit of calm in the chaos, I decided to incinerate two birds with one toaster oven. I roped my husband and BFF into a minimalism challenge. Now, I can’t take credit for this, the idea comes from the 30-Day Minimalism Game created by the Minimalists. We tweaked it a bit to serve our needs but the basic gist is this: every day, for the duration of the challenge, you pick items to donate, sell, or trash. Wherever they end up doesn’t matter as long as they’re out of your house. Here’s the tricky part. On day 1 you get rid of 1 item, on day 2 - 2 items, day 3 - 3 items, and so on and so forth. We started on February 6th and are going till the end of the month, so on the last day, we will each be letting go of 23 items. The grand total of items relinquished at the end of the challenge will be 276, each.

Today marks day 12, and this has been a more than eye opening experience. Can I just say, who the hell needs 28 eyeshadow brushes? I’m a makeup dabbler, not a professional or an enthusiast and that is an absurd number of brushes. I’ve become acutely aware of the ADHD tax in this process as well. Every time I lose a pair of nail clippers, I purchase a new one and so now that every nook and cranny is being cleared, I’m now the proud owner of 3 nail clippers (not including my husbands pair that he hid from me so I couldn’t lose those too).

Honestly, this exercise is quite cathartic. I’m learning what I care about and what does and doesn’t serve me. My husband and I live in a house that is much too big for just us and our fur family, and while moving isn’t an option right now, we are looking at renting out the top floor to family. I know that sharing a space isn’t everyone’s ideal, but I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of building community right now. This whole experience is teaching me that I need a whole lot less than I thought I did. The money I’ve been garbage dumping into trinkets and impulse purchases would make me much happier invested into making house repairs and saving for travels.

At the end of the day, we get to decide the kind of life we want to live. I’m not asking you to emulate my vision, but to give some honest introspection to your own. Does your stuff make you happy or are you drowning in it? Is there something waiting for you on the other side of the capitalist grind? Is there a happy medium, or even a radical alternative (if that’s your thing). At the end of the day, stuff is just stuff and you can’t take it with you when you die.

If you haven’t already, check out my article Radical generosity & mutual aid…a low key revolution. It’s all about the many, many ways people are rebelling against the system to create communities that care more about human rights, dignity, and connection than corporate profits. It’s up to us to create the change we want to see in the world. Maybe, just maybe, discovering the joy of less is a great place to start.

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Who says affirmations have to be boring? Slay today’s dragons like the chonky little bastards they are with an irreverent little coloring page. Not into coloring? Don’t worry, you can just print it out and hang it up a la black and white (I won’t judge).

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Enjoy this post? If you’d like to support my work, consider tipping the cost of a cup or coffee on Ko-fi! Your support helps fund everything from fixing up my 100-year-old house to fueling road trip adventures and offsetting surprise medical bills. Click the button to see my current fundraising goal and how your tips are making a difference.

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The horrors persist, but by god so do we. We’ve made it to another Friday my friends and that is worth celebrating 🥳

Here’s a weird but delightful little fact to tickle your tired brain:

👉 In the Middle Ages, people believed that the first bird they saw on Valentine’s Day predicted their future spouse. Seeing a robin meant you’d marry a sailor, a goldfinch meant a rich person, and a sparrow meant… a poor but happy marriage. No word on what happens if the first bird you see is a pigeon eating a cigarette.

A bite sized self-care challenge:

👀 Eat something that brings you joy. Monster that Whitman’s Sampler like a feral goblin.

Now it’s time to go out there and commit a small but chaotic act of kindness:

❤️ Aggressively appreciate someone today. Text them ‘I cherish your existence, you magnificent creature’ and then refuse to explain. Bonus points if you use this meme.

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I’ll see you again next Friday for another dose of unhinged but holding on. Until then, keep it weird my friends!

Enjoy this post? If you’d like to support my work, consider tipping the cost of a cup of coffee on Ko-fi! Your support helps fund everything from fixing up my 100-year-old house to fueling road trip adventures and offsetting surprise medical bills. Click the button to see my current fundraising goal and how your tips are making a difference.

Buy Me a Coffee

Conk’s Brain is a reader supported publication. Get new posts and updates delivered straight to your inbox, and fill my heart with the warm fuzzies when you subscribe 👇

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Sharing my posts is free, painless, and 75% more fun than forwarding chain emails 💌

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