Issue #228: One (Emotional) Battle (with Myself) After Another

Not the start to 2026 I expected…

📺 “Heated Rivalry” on HBO: Literally everyone I know is talking about this show, a series about two pro hockey players in a steamy affair. It has the production value of a low-budget CW show, but the story is great and the sex scenes are extremely sexy, kicking off about twenty minutes into the first episode (they waste no time).

🥘 Little Sheep Hot Pot Base: Over New Year’s, my friend brought her hot pot to the Mt. Hood cabin we rented, along with thin cuts of beef and vegetables like acorn squash, Napa cabbage, and bok choi from Uwajimaya (IYKYK). It was so delicious, and such a fun group meal, but the stand-out was the broth we dipped our ingredients into, a Mongolian base from her favorite spot in the Bay Area, Little Sheep. Literally all you do it pour it into the pot and add water—low effort for the highest reward. (When I asked if I could share, she immediately texted back, “Spread the gospel!!”)

📱 ‘Pips’ Game on New York Times: While I never quite got into Wordle, I have become enraptured, heart and soul, by this new New York Times game, which is like KenKen with dominos. It’s so cozy and quick, and takes just enough brain power in the morning, to entertain me as I sip my matcha, when I haven’t yet had enough caffeine to dive into the news.

I also saw ‘Marty Supreme’ over the holidays, and it turns out that maybe I may not be a fan of Safdie brothers movies?? The performances were incredible, but I was too stressed-out the entire time to enjoy it!

I had an entirely different post written and scheduled for today, but scrapped it at the eleventh hour when I realized it didn’t feel honest to where I’m at…

I have never felt this out of sorts heading into a new year. As I write this at four in the morning—too wired from stress to head back to sleep, too exhausted to tackle the to-dos keeping me up—every corner of my house is a mess. Last night’s dishes are still piled in the sink and a plastic USPS bin taunts me from my kitchen table, filled to the brim with all the mail I received while traveling. Mid-journal entry, it occurs to me that I still need to do laundry before leaving the house this morning (I wore my last clean pair of underwear yesterday).

It’s the first Monday of the new year, and I’m already behind.

My living room yesterday, versus most of 2025 (it's fine, everything's FINE)

This time last year, I felt collected and ready. I spent the final days of 2024 deep in reflection, amidst a low-key Christmas. On the first day of 2025, I went for a walk on my favorite trail in Portland and returned to my clean home, optimistic and grounded. I remember feeling intimidated, but excited by the prospect of finishing school, publishing the paperback of my novel, and moving into my van. I felt, in a way, like I had finally figured things out, which makes my current state all the more confusing and discouraging. I didn’t realize then how much that steadiness was anchored by the promise the next year held.