Greetings my lovely feral, dark, and bright ones,

I asked Siri for the weather forecast this morning, and when she chimed in with her cheerful robotic voice to inform me that we are once again under an extreme heat warning, I just threw my hands in the air, said, “Of course we are,” and walked away.

Which actually brings me to a thought: can I have full-blown, chaotic conversations with Siri the way I used to with Alexa? HMMMM… now this is going to be a fun little experiment to try. Stay tuned on that one.

We’re sitting on day thirty-something of this relentless, month-long desert furnace with zero relief on the forecast. I keep attempting to play mind games with myself, pretending this is just a brief, heroic season to endure and flinging desperate, non-denominational manifestos into the ether hoping for rain. To be clear, I’m not praying to any invisible man in the sky—unless he’s coming down here with a giant bag of ice and a moving truck. It’s pure cope. Let’s be real: living in Tucson right now feels less like “magical desert living” and more like being crammed directly up someone’s humid backside.

The harder I try to force myself to fall in love with the desert aesthetic, the more I despise it. If I could pack a single bag, shove the animals in the car, and roll out of town today, I’d be a smudge on the horizon. But alas, I am an adult. I have a lease, real-world responsibilities, and a literal zoo of fur babies who demand food and air conditioning. You can’t just up and disappear without a bag full of cash and a master plan. Adulting is a trap, and it is completely exhausting.

To top off the morning chaos, I woke up convinced it was Friday. I sprinted to open my laptop to pay rent, fully prepared to celebrate payday, only to realize it’s actually Thursday. The disappointment was real. But tomorrow is Friday, which means Ronnie’s and my 22nd wedding anniversary and our day off together, so I’m letting it go.

We officially tied the knot back in 2004, got together in 2002, and first crossed paths way back in 1989. The whole epic saga started with him looking at me and saying, “How about some fries with that shake, baby?”—which was immediately met with a swift smack. Best friends first, lovers second, and soulmates to the very end. We have survived absolute hellfire and total chaos together, dodged life’s worst curveballs, and we are still standing, stronger and crazier about each other than ever. Twenty-two years of marriage, and the man still hasn’t learned to stop testing me!

The minute it hits 3 PM today, I am sprinting out of the office… well, damn it all to hell, I work from home, so there is no sprinting for me. Okay, so I will walk out of the office, only to return five minutes later to play my games on the TV in here. Today is my mid-year review with my manager, on top of dealing with clients calling in—hoping that maybe, just maybe, one of them will have their knickers untangled enough to leave me a decent survey.

Can you believe someone actually gave me a 6-star rating out of 10 because I was “calling them too much”? Why? Because I lit a fire under their ass and didn’t let them sit around ignoring their end of the work like they’re used to. Oh honey, I am a different breed. I will contact you daily to ensure the job gets done and the case gets closed. I am not letting my backlog get piled up because you’re too lazy to do your part. A 6-star survey for actually doing my job… pfft. I hope you have the exact day you deserve.

Right now, I am sitting here with you while sipping my morning magic bean potion spiked with pumpkin spice creamer. Yes, pumpkin spice in July. If you don’t like it, you can go suck it. I am a pumpkin spice and vanilla cream kind of woman, and I make no apologies for it. My house even smells like autumn already! Fuck it—if the desert won’t give me fall weather, I will have autumn and winter inside my own damn house whenever I want.

In fact, I am about to grab a second cup. Watch out, world—I am fully caffeinated on high octane! Fuck with me today, I dare you. Clients are getting the high-speed, fully charged version of me today, which means the Jersey woman and the full accent are destined to come out. That is always entertainment.

Which brings me to today’s thoughts.

I’m kicking off a series called Permission to Live. It’s all about finding yourself in the middle of life’s circus, cutting the dead weight, and giving yourself total permission to live your life out loud. Zero tragic sob stories here—we are keeping it light, loud, dramatic, and real.

Case in point: I recently had a dear friend look me straight in the face and tell me it was hard to be my friend because my walls were too high and too thick to break through. Ouch. That wasn’t a gentle nudge; that was a full-on verbal bitch-slap! I sat there seeing stars for a second. But honestly? She wasn’t wrong. I had been building a whole damn fortress like I was guarding royal jewels, when really, walls just trap you inside your own quiet castle.

Enter the universe’s ultimate joke. Right after a dumb, minor spat with Ronnie, I was sitting in the silence when a wild roadrunner landed on my windowsill, cocked its head, ruffled its feathers, and stared directly into my soul.

I sat there staring at that little fucker asking him out loud: “What do you want now?!”

Growing up on Saturday morning cartoons, I always loved the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote and giggled through every episode. Moving out here, actually seeing coyotes and roadrunners living in the wild felt bizarre. But roadrunner sightings are few and far between—they only show up out of the blue, in the weirdest places and times, whenever I least expect it. The last time this happened was back around 2020 at our old house!

Clearly, this little fucker had a direct message to deliver. He stared right through the glass like a tiny feathered mob boss and practically yelled: Stop dramatic spiraling, pull yourself together, and move your ass!

And then, as fast as he landed, he jumped off the sill and completely vanished into thin air. I scrambled up and looked everywhere out the window, but he was nowhere to be found—and trust me, I looked hard. I ran straight to my desk, grabbed my laptop, and immediately started researching roadrunner symbolism. Because when weird shit like this happens, it’s not a random coincidence. It’s a direct transmission from the gods and goddesses—and I needed to figure out which deity sent this feathered asshole to check me!

That was the exact moment the light switch flipped. I am done playing the exhausting game of trying so damn hard to be what everyone else wants me to be. I am going to shine, take up space, and be unapologetically who I am. I am living my life my way—and if people don’t like it, well, they can fuck all the way off.

So how am I shining now? By doing what actually makes me happy and living my best life without giving a single fuck.

• I am creating my own reality. If it’s 105 degrees outside, I’m lighting autumn candles, blasting the AC, pouring pumpkin spice, and pretending October is here today.
• I am running my world on my terms. I’m clocking out at 3 PM, parking myself in front of the TV in my office, and immersing myself in Animal Crossing or Dreamlight Valley without feeling a shred of productivity guilt.
• I am using my voice. Whether it’s putting clients in their place with full Jersey attitude, tearing down my stone walls with real friends, or celebrating 22 years of surviving hellfire with my soulmate, I am done shrinking to fit inside anyone else’s box.

Rachel was the version of me built to survive the old chaos—the diplomat, the peacekeeper, the silent sufferer who held it all together. She did her job, and I thank her for getting me this far. But Rae is the one driving the bus now. Rae is the one who speaks her mind, drinks pumpkin spice in July, demands good surveys, breaks out the Jersey accent, and refuses to hide behind giant stone walls ever again.

Permission was never something I needed to beg for from anyone else. It was a hall pass I had to write for myself.

So here’s to pumpkin spice, breaking down walls, 22 years of surviving hellfire with my soulmate, and living loud. What about you—where are you ready to stop playing small, tell the world to kick rocks, and start taking up space?