Every year, without fail, fall rolls in and people start looking at my iced coffee like I am doing something illegal. As if autumn requires hot drinks. As if room temperature hand holding with a latte is some sacred rite of seasonal passage.
Well guess what. I am not switching. I am not warming it up. I am not frothing a single thing.
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It is September. The stores are covered in plaid. Instagram is full of leaves. The seasonal candles are out here screaming names like woodland dusk and haunted cinnamon orchard. Everyone is pretending it is sweater weather.
It is not.
It is still hot. My thighs are still sticking to this chair. And I am personally offended.
I want to be in October. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, I am there. But physically I am still in an air conditioned prison with a fan I do not even like looking at.
Let’s talk about it.
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Let’s be honest. The phrase self-care has been hijacked. What used to mean taking care of yourself in a world that won’t now means buying a five dollar green juice, dry brushing your skin, and pretending an $80 face mask is going to solve your emotional unraveling.
That’s cute.
But when you are overstimulated, underrested, and on the edge of telling someone off in a Target parking lot, you need more than scented candles. You need snarky self-care.
The kind that is petty.
The kind that is real.
The kind that actually works.
Let’s get into it.
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Let’s just say this up front. I hate summer. I do not want to frolic in the sun. I do not want to grill anything. I do not want to go outside and pretend the heat is refreshing. My ideal summer day does not involve sweating through my bra or pretending I enjoy small talk on a patio.
This is not a Pinterest post. This is not aspirational. This is my honest, unhinged, low energy, iced coffee fueled version of summer joy. No one asked. I am telling you anyway.
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Let’s just go ahead and cancel the idea that you need to become a minimalist hot girl who drinks green juice and lives in a sun drenched cottage by the sea to feel like your life has meaning. Most of us are not quitting our jobs to chase sunsets or booking one way tickets to somewhere with cobblestones and espresso. We have bills. We have responsibilities. We have pets and laundry and people who keep asking what’s for dinner like that’s not a loaded question.
But here is the truth. You do not have to escape your life to enjoy it. You can romanticize the life you already have without selling your house or pretending you suddenly care about yoga. It is not about aesthetics. It is about noticing. Intentionally choosing peace and joy where you are, even if where you are is in a moomoo on your couch holding iced coffee and pure resentment.
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Let’s set the record straight. I do not want a hug. Not an actual one. Not a lingering side squeeze. Not a pat on the back that turns into an awkward moment of eye contact. When I say warm hug, I mean that quiet kind of comfort that does not involve people or heat or effort. I am talking about the things that make life feel slightly less awful without requiring me to put on real clothes or speak to anyone.
Here are ten things that hit the warm hug vibe without making me want to crawl out of my skin—and five things that absolutely do not and never will.
Without the Sweat or the Small Talk
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We have all had those days. You are overwhelmed, under rested, and one group text away from throwing your phone into a lake. Sure, you could go journal about your feelings or do some deep breathing in a corner, but let’s be real. Sometimes the only logical response to chaos is to grab a mop and clean your house like it owes you money.
Welcome to rage cleaning. It is equal parts emotional spiral and domestic success story. You may be barely holding it together, but at least your counters are sparkling.
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My HodgePodgery 