Why yes, friends, this is another episode of "get stoned with me and listen to old vinyl." Welcome back. Or if it's your first time, welcome. So glad you're here. I've got the weed, and since I'm writing this on 9/25 that means it is Dolly Day so of course we are smoking out of Jolene. Today's album is Out of a Dream by Reba.

Dear Mama, I’m out on the porch today between thunderstorms. Smoking a couple of joints trying to erase this day from my memory. Why? Well, that’s an excellent question. I found out tod…

Good evening. It doesn't matter what evening, but good evening. Have you had a rough/border-line shitty day at work? Well, me too friend. Grab your smoking device and lets get stoned and listen to some Reba. I am going to listen to her 1977 Debut album, titled "Reba McEntire" while I'm a little bit kinda maybe a lot stoned.

I'm taking you on a new adventure with me. Where I explore my vinyl collection while stoned. We are starting with Read My Mind by Reba McEntire tonight. And these thoughts are completely unfiltered. I'm sitting here typing as I listen. And listening to the introduction cost me track one. I've heard this album a hundred times, but something about it on vinyl just hits me right in the chest every single time.

12 years ago this week I lost one of my closest friends to cancer. She was in her 20s, I was 17. We met through church activities, and quickly realized we were two souls cut from the same cloth. And when I lost her, it felt like my world was ending. But the thing about her is that she would have wanted me to keep living.

Two weeks. It's been two weeks since we lost Dolly. It's been almost a week since we lost Gloria. How is this possible? And the nerve of my therapist today to do her damn job. The loss of legends has me on high alert. I never imagined losing Dolly would be this heartbreaking for me. I mean, yes, I love her music and her as a human, but I never really thought she'd die.

The world has been grieving. We lost an angel on earth, and it hurts. Personally, I realized how much of a mess if Reba ever dies (she's not allowed, this is a non negotiable). While I am heartbroken, I'm so glad she got to go home to her Carl Dean. She was ready to go home. She really, really was. I can accept that.

I'm writing this the day after she died. I wanted to write it last night, but it was so overwhelming that I just couldn't. I was sitting out on my deck at 11:00 PM ugly crying while listening to her albums. I cried this morning when I got up and realized she didn't wake with us. And I'll cry for her loss probably for a while here and there.

If you only knew what a trauma survivor goes through.The loneliness that comes from not being able to trust anyone.The desire for a connection, but being too scared to find it.If you only knew how easy it is to go into survival mode. The immediate response that takes place. Unable to pull back from it for hours on end.

I swear, I would really, really love a week where my world wasn't rocked by some random piece of information that shouldn't bother me anymore, but it does. This week, my ex-husband is the reason I've been distracted. And I won't get into it here, but you know what? I'm tired of it. So freaking tired of it. I haven't been writing.

Hey Mama, I have been struggling for a few days. Well, okay. I've been struggling for about two weeks. Because, well, my mother did what she always did. She was doting in public and hugged me and told me she loved me, not that she wished me a happy birthday, and then completely ignored me the rest of the night. …

So, for my birthday this year, I decided I wanted to go do something. Well, okay. I needed "supplies" for writing. The fact that it was my birthday was just a happy accident. Well, I decided it would be a brilliant idea to spend the weekend TENT CAMPING. Yeah, my back is screaming at me too. I also, on the 31st, got 1.75 new tattoos.

This last month has been a little bit wild. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I was thinking about how I wanted to live this last year of my twenties. I'm starting it off strong with a hair appointment and then a new tattoo a few days later. Well, technically two. My heart is full, but it is also empty.

My local theatre is putting on Dear Evan Hansen. I'd never seen it before, but I knew the story. I was so excited to see it. I had been looking forward to it for weeks. But I had no idea how hard it would hit me at the end of the show. Before I tell you the story of my night, I need to set the scene.

I've been in a bit of a slump with writing lately. It's been a struggle to get myself out of it. If I'm being honest, I'm not out of it yet. My brain is tired by the time I get home from work and on the weekends I just want to vegetate on the couch and relax. Did I tell you guys I finally got diagnosed with ADHD?

Hey, Mama. I know, it's a little weird for me to say that. That's just what you are to me. The mama I needed when my own couldn't be that for me. Don't worry, I'm not the crazy one who will stalk you and try and guess when you and Rex finally tie the knot. I'll merely watch from afar and be so happy when you share whatever details you want to share.

We all have that one era of music, no matter the genre, that has us in an absolute chokehold. That one era of music we always gravitate to because it feels like home. It should be no surprise that for me that's the powerhouse era of '90s country. This year I have the incredible opportunity to see five different artists from that era.

Hey friends. My life has been crazy. But I'm still right here. And I'm a little triggered, to be honest, but not necessarily in a bad way. When we hear the word "triggered" we typically associate it with a downward spiral. We associate it with feeling of hopelessness and unworthiness. But the "triggered" I'm feeling today isn't bad. It's actually incredibly freeing.

Alright y'all. Sorry for the late post this week. I was busy putting finishing touches on part of my manuscript to send to my editor/proofreader. Yeah. I actually hired one. Insane, I know. It feels like I've handed over a piece of my soul. It feels jarring. I'm nervous as can be because what do you mean you're going to take a red pen to it?

Hey friends. Still can't write that Reba react. I think that the song has broken my brain in the best possible way. Or worst possible way, I guess it just depends on how you want to look at it. I'm actually stepping back into an old skin this week. I'm stepping back into the pulpit for the first time seven years.

Okay, here's the deal y'all. I'm in the middle of a couple of different things. On top of all of that, I'm currently waiting (rather impatiently) for a formal ADHD diagnosis (expected June 11) and it has been suggested that I stop using my coping mechanisms to just do all the things and to let myself see what other people see.

Most days I don't complain about my ability to hear the different pieces of a song. Most days I'm just thankful to have something that I connect so deeply to. This Memorial Day weekend I spent locked up in my house. I spent the weekend writing and editing pieces of "What Surrendered." I'm starting to worry about my self imposed deadline, but that's not what is on my mind today.

I was going through my Google Drive this weekend (yes, it's where I keep the Vault) and stumbled across this poem. "Requiem for the Gold" was the name. I was curious. I didn't remember writing it. So I opened up the document, read it, and instantly busted out laughing. I had to have been stoned when I wrote this, but I swear I didn't change a word of it.

My apologies for missing last week, I was dealing with a kidney stone. Friends, drink water. Because these things hurt. I don't really know what to say to all of you right now. My head is asking my heart if we should be doing more. More writing, more guitar playing, more not my 9-5 job that pays my bills. I'm starting to wonder if a relocation to Nashville wouldn't have been the right move three years ago.

I brought home a new cat. So now I've got three. Two boys and a girl, and lord help me, I think I made a mistake. But first, a quick history of how I became a cat mama to three. Shortly after I got divorced I texted my aunt to see if she had any farm cats that were tame enough to become a house cat.