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I’m in a weepy book mood. Sometimes I avoid books and movies that promise to leave me a sobbing wreck, and other times, I am like, “sign me up.” Sign me up for Lily and the Octopus. I would like to be left a puddle on the floor, thumbing through old pictures of Linus.

Sign me up for The Duke. I can’t even watch the trailer without getting choked up. Sweet old man art thieves trying to bring balance to the world? (Actually, I don’t know if Kempton Bunton was a sweet old man, but Broadbent feels like a sweet old man.) Yes, please.

Sometimes you just need a good cry.

What do you read/watch to bring on a good cry?

Even when I don’t set my alarm, my body somehow knows that the correct time is nearing, even though I wake up at a different time on the weekend. It’s not fine-tuned enough to not set an alarm clock and trust my brain, but more often than not, I partially wake up a few minutes before my alarm goes off. (Except for the times when my brain allows me to be startled awake by happily clapping people.)

So the term “grief alarm clock” feels right.

Somehow our body knows and alerts us to grief, even when we’re not totally conscious that an anniversary is approaching. That feeling of disquiet that comes when you sense a date on the horizon.

Passing along this article in case it’s helpful to anyone else.

Speaking of garbage thoughts, I’ve been trying to ask myself the same question every time I remember it throughout the day. Does this thing I’m doing make me feel good?

Reading this French detective novel? Yes. I feel good. It feels good going into my eye holes and up to my brain.

Eating this bag of peanut butter pretzels? I thought I would answer yes, but it turned out the actual answer was no. They made me feel terrible even though they tasted great.

Going on an indoor walk? Yes. Even though I often drag my feet at getting started.

Scrolling through Facebook. No. At least, not on that last scroll through.

It is easier to stop eating peanut butter pretzels or scrolling through Facebook when I realize the thing I am doing is not making me feel good. It is much harder to stop cooking dinner when I realize how little I want to be chopping onions. I’m not sure how helpful it is to ask myself the question when I can’t do anything about the activity.

But maybe acknowledging it is half helpful. Which is more helpful than not helpful.

There is a photo on our refrigerator that I love. I didn’t love it when I first saw it. It was taken at a Bat Mitzvah, and the Melissa in the photo didn’t look like the Melissa inside my brain. At the same time, I was aware that the Melissa in the photo bore a striking resemblance to the Melissa in the mirror (who also did not look like the Melissa inside my brain).

But months after the event, I decided to print it out because everyone else looked good, and I moved it onto the refrigerator so I could look at everyone else.

And then I kept aging.

At some point during the pandemic, I looked at the photo and thought, “Why did I ever think I didn’t look good here? I looked great here. Whereas now…”

And the cycle began anew.

There was a recent New York Times article about this phenonemon that I’ve re-read a few times now because it got under my skin. (I still need to read her book, Loribeth!) Especially this part:

One of the skills I’ve acquired since turning 40 is the ability to recognize there will likely always be a gap between seeing a photo of myself and appreciating it. That gap, I’ve realized, is the time it takes me to overcome all the ways I’ve been taught to value myself in the world. The older I get, the more I understand that delay as evidence of a sort of theft. One that I’m only now understanding has occurred, and it is my anger over that which has helped shorten it.

I am trying to get there because it is a theft. And I don’t want that gap. I want to appreciate the me who is now, not miss the now me later.

Advice on the internet is not created equally. There is sound advice, and there is crap advice, and the two exist side-by-side, forcing you to squint and decide. But this article is actually full of good advice that is straightforward to implement.

It is about clearing your brain.

Because, as she says: “You can clear your inbox… clear your schedule… clear your fridge (ew, what is that moldy science experiment anyway?). And you can clear mental space in your brain.”

When my brain feels full, it is never because it is brimming with wonderful things that I don’t want to forget. Instead, it is full of garbage that is drowning me. Knowing the thoughts are garbage thoughts that I should toss aside, I am grateful to come across advice on how to get said garbage thoughts out of my brain. At least temporarily.

And now I pass it along to you.