Anyone Else?

Love notes from my sister. We are a real riot these days.

October 28, 2025

Has anyone else’s 2025 been really fucking stupid?

Like, not just bad—but comedically bad? The kind of bad that makes you wonder if you accidentally got transported to another dimension where the universe personally hates you?

Every adjective feels too small—awful, brutal, devastating, unbelievable, soul-crushing. There really needs to be a new word for this level of—FUCK!

I’ve called it a dumpster fire a few times, but my sister sent me this meme today and… yeah. This is the candle I’ve been burning all year.

Eau de Portable Toilet Inferno.

January actually started off okay. My dad was alive and doing well. I’d just started a new career I was genuinely excited about. Nate was still cuddling with me, and the Eagles were going to the Super Bowl. Awe, memories.

I remember journaling on December 31, 2024—writing all these beautiful intentions about wanting more life, love, peace, energy, closeness, sex and fun, emotional connection, sunshine, warmth.

Little did I know the real theme of 2025 would be “Katherine becomes a prolific writer so she can dig herself out of the ashes of her life while people in her community throw rocks at her for showing up and serving.”

But here’s the thing: I am more than surviving.

Not quite thriving—okay, nowhere near thriving—but definitely more than surviving.

So if your year’s been a bit of a flaming porta-potty too, you’re not alone.

We’re still standing.

And maybe that’s the scent of resilience after all.

I do have tissues if you need to cry.