Weekends Coming ;)
It’s October, It’s 80 Degrees, and the Mosquitoes Are Planning My Downfall
So.
I’ve grounded myself from the news.
Not like, “Oh I’m trying to unplug for self-care 💆♀️✨” — no. I’ve cut the cord before I start throwing hands at Muppets or screaming into the abyss like a broken Roomba. The news has been punching my eardrums at all hours, and my brain was like, “Ma’am, you are not emotionally cleared for this.” So I checked out.
Now I’m just out here, raw-dogging reality with no headlines and a vague understanding of the vibes.
And the vibes? Confused.
Because it’s October in Minnesota — aka Official Flannel and Pumpkin Spice Season — and yet we’re having another 80-degree day. Eighty. Degrees. I didn’t ask for this bonus summer. I was emotionally prepared for crisp air, crunchy leaves, and seasonal depression. Instead, the universe handed me one last chance to finish my yard work. Like a weirdly passive-aggressive blessing.
And honestly? Rude.
Of course, the dogs are NOT impressed. They are fluffy, dramatic, and act like I’ve dragged them through the Sahara every time we step outside. As the helicopter dog mom I am, I now spend more time checking weather apps than most meteorologists. UV index? Checked. Pollen count? Refreshed. Mosquito threat level? Basically DEFCON 2. I’m out here like a full-time data analyst, just to decide if it’s safe for them to go sniff a tree.
Spoiler: it never is.
Because the mosquitoes are STILL HERE.
Despite paying real adult money to have my yard treated, these tiny winged demons have unionized and launched a guerrilla warfare campaign against me and my dogs. The second we step outside, it’s like they got a push notification: “She’s on the move. SWARM.”
It’s giving Jumanji. It’s giving Predator.
It’s giving I Want My Money Back.
Anyway. I’m spicy. But still functioning.
On a happier note: we kicked off our annual October tradition — 31 Days of Scary Movies — where we watch a spooky movie every night leading up to Halloween. My husband started us off with Nightmare on Elm Street, and let me just say… if you haven’t revisited the movies that traumatized you as a teen, you’re missing out.
Because WOW.
Between the feathered bangs, crop tops, suspiciously old-looking “teenagers,” and Freddy Krueger serving full camp with that striped sweater/fedora combo, it’s cinematic gold. Was I scared? Not even slightly. Did I laugh so hard I almost needed my inhaler? Absolutely.
Those movies raised us. Terrified us. Shaped us.
Now they’re like comfort food for emotionally unstable adults who laugh at bad dialogue and judge everyone’s survival instincts.
So yeah — the weather is broken, the dogs are sweaty, I’m one mosquito bite away from going full scorched earth, and the news is banned from my life until further notice. But I’ve got horror movies, dog snuggles, and just enough rage to stay productive.
We’re thriving. Or something like it.