Hi I’m sorta unavailable
Writing from my couch, which is not my couch, because my bed has been taken from me
I’m being dramatic, but also extremely lucid and appropriately reactive
I’m writing from my couch, which is not my couch, because my bed was taken from me. Let me back up, but I’ll spare you and I won’t “start from the beginning.”
I’m 31 weeks pregnant
My husband and I live in Los Angeles which is objectively (subjectively) the best place to live. And also the worst. It’s the best because it’s sunny everyday - it actually is! The food is great, everywhere. I’m always eating fresh, cheap produce. The gallery scene is cool, which me and my husband like to dip our toes in some Thursdays and Saturdays. The flowers, the privacy, the space! The beach, the mountains. It’s great.
LA is the worst because, as far as personal, spiritual, bonafide growth goes, it’s a dead zone
So, tunnel through several conversations at the kitchen counter, in bed and on walks with Pluto and you’ll find me and Pascal above ground, very pregnant, and packing. Not the sole reason but certainly a reason included in these dialogues are the IQ points scored simply being born on the east coast.
We didn’t really know we were moving. We started moving and then agreed we were moving.
We still don’t call it ‘a move’ out loud. Lest we might hear ourselves and get anxiety about it.
Is this making any sense at all? I won’t dignify the term “pregnancy brain,” but I will concede to its effects.
The initial intention was to deliver the baby closer to my parents, something I think many women can understand. I need my mommy, just like I hope one day this little peanut-bean will need me.

Somehow, now, belly like a weighted balloon I am packing clothes into duffel bags and throwing away kitchen spoons
I’m opposite nesting. I’m purging! What a funny way to spend this extremely tender time. We gave our couch to my husband’s brother. His brother’s couch, an unfamiliar and deeply not mine couch, now supports me, belly baby, pluto and my macbook.
Today, after a little hormonal episode, I crawled into our bed, under the covers and relished in some light afternoon reading.

That’s when my husband walks in, drill in hand, Teo at his side, to remove the bed frame from our bedroom. The sobs burst forth and I hurled myself in a ridiculous outfit (vintage threadbare t, no bra, gingham bloomers) for a walk to Erewhon to buy overpriced goods to eat my feelings.
****when someone says doing erewhon stuff is like so LA, that’s like saying going to times square is so new york. to these utterances, i say get a grip!****
We’re doing what I wanted and I’m happy about it, but I’m also soooooooo sensitive
I feel like the prophet bidding his farewell to the people of orphalese:
But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart:
How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city. Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.
This was my first newsletter and I think an excellent representation of my identity.
I like the part where you wrote a Substack instead of making a TikTok. I think it will age better.