Fridays always show up like a slightly chaotic friend who swears everything is going to work out. Even when the week has been a mess, even when the weather can’t decide if it’s spring or still winter.
Last night’s Swedish book club was one of the highlights of the month. We talked about the book for maybe twenty minutes and spent the rest sorting out life, aging, relationships, and the general chaos of being human. There’s something about sitting with smart, funny women that makes the world feel steadier, like a tiny monthly reset for the soul. Thank you, friends.

This morning started with a crisis. I walked into the kitchen, reached for the coffee filters, and found one. One single, flimsy, papery filter. If it ripped or folded wrong, there would be no coffee. And without coffee, there would be no Friday. Not for me. (We have plenty of beans for the expresso machine, but it’s not the same.)

Betty is out there living her best life, sprinting after squirrels like she’s training for the Olympics. Dudley, meanwhile, is still recovering after patella surgery. Moving slowly, sighing loudly.

Outside, the lilacs are exploding. The lake is warming up. Everything smells like spring trying its best. I’ve read a stack of books this week, partly because I love it, partly because sitting down is my main hobby right now. And in between chapters, I’m finishing my own book. A little more than one more month until the big hand‑in. One more month of rearranging sentences and pretending I’m calm.

And then there’s the joy of being a middle‑aged woman in 2026. Every day the internet reminds me that I should be eating more protein, fiber, collagen, chia seeds, and absolutely no fun. I’m supposed to hit 30 grams of protein before I’ve even found my glasses. Meanwhile, my breakfast today was… a kiwi, some mango, and half a banana. Basically, a toddler fruit plate. I was too tired to figure out anything else after falling asleep around 2. I’m sure an influencer somewhere just screamed into a mason jar and fainted.

Speaking of influencers: according to them, I should be cold‑plunging, hot‑yoga‑ing, lifting heavy, walking 20,000 steps, doing mobility work, journaling, using no seed oil, dry brushing, talking to Jesus, and taping my mouth shut at night so I can “breathe like an ancient warrior. The funny part is: I actually do cold plunge. But the rest? Yes and no. Still lifting, but not very heavy. I’m not taping my mouth shut unless someone can guarantee I’ll wake up looking and feeling 25 again. Or maybe not even then.

And now they’ve added a spiritual twist, if I don’t greet the sunrise with gratitude, intention, and a quick chat with Jesus about my macros, I’m failing at life. And yes, I did whisper a tiny prayer over that last coffee filter. Nothing dramatic, just a quiet, desperate, “Please hold.” Sometimes that’s all the spirituality I have to offer before 7 a.m.

So here we are: two dogs (one bouncy one sad), lilacs blooming, the lake warming, a book almost done, a body that wants fewer rules, a fruit‑based breakfast that would disappoint every wellness coach alive, and one fragile coffee filter holding the whole operation together.

And somehow, it still feels hopeful. Maybe it’s Friday. Maybe it’s the sun. Maybe it’s just the promise of a weekend where we all get to heal a little, Duds physically, me mentally, and the coffee situation urgently.

Happy Friday, peeps. I’m taking a break to mow the lawn and give my potato plants a pep talk about gratitude and the importance of growth.

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