Roger Has Opinions

Day 115 – March 18, 2026

If Roger were a person, he would absolutely be one of those men who refers to himself as “a thought leader” and then immediately falls down two stairs while holding an iced coffee. I say this with love.

He just has that kind of confidence. Unreasonable. Unexamined. Entirely unsupported by evidence. The confidence of a creature who has never once doubted his own relevance to the functioning of the universe.

Today he spent a full ten minutes arguing with a blanket. Not playing. Arguing.

There was growling. There was digging. There was a dramatic leap backward at one point like the blanket had made a threat. Then, after all that, he flopped down on top of it like a hero securing contested territory.

And watching him, I had one of those very dumb, very real moments where I thought, honestly, a lot of people move through life exactly like this. Just pure self appointed authority.

Absolute certainty. Minimal reflection. A dramatic relationship to inconvenience. An unearned belief that every room is improved by their involvement.

Roger is, in many ways, just a furry CEO.

It made me laugh harder than it should have, which then sent me into one of my favorite kinds of spirals. The kind where I start thinking about how painfully strange people are. Because some of us really do operate with astonishing levels of confidence in areas where they have no business being that sure.

Men will start a podcast. Women will apologize while being correct. Someone somewhere is currently texting “no worries” while actively becoming a supervillain. And all of us, every last one, are basically just emotionally decorated mammals trying to get comfortable before we die.

That’s incredible. And weirdly comforting.

Because sometimes I think one of the few sane responses to being alive is laughter. Not denial. Not avoidance. Just that sharp, slightly feral kind of laughter that comes from realizing how absurd the whole production is.

The body with its trauma responses. The mind with its need to understand everything. Society with its bizarre little scripts. The daily indignities of adulthood. The fact that a dog can lose a fight with a blanket and still carry himself like he won a war.

How are you supposed to not laugh?

I don’t trust people who never laugh. Not because life is simple. Because it’s not. Because it’s terrible and tender and humiliating and gorgeous and deeply weird, often all before noon. If you can’t laugh somewhere in there, I don’t know what to tell you except maybe loosen your emotional spanx and have a beverage.

That thought feels especially true lately.

Because what I’ve lived through is real. None of this humor is me pretending otherwise. It’s the opposite. Humor is one of the ways I know I’m still here. Still thinking. Still playing with the shape of things. Still refusing to become so flattened by pain that I lose my ability to recognize absurdity when it’s standing in the middle of the room chewing on a throw pillow.

Which, to be fair, Roger was also doing today.

He eventually fell asleep in the exact spot where he had spent half the morning conducting his anti-blanket campaign, snoring like a retired attorney after a three martini lunch. Again, love of my life.

And maybe that’s the whole mood right now. Deep thoughts, real healing, excellent instincts, and just enough ridiculousness to keep the whole thing from turning into one long another cookie cutter podcast about growth.

No thank you.

I prefer my truth with texture. I prefer my wisdom a little unhinged. I prefer my healing with a side of laughter that makes someone snort in public and then send the entry to a friend with “who the fuck is this woman and why do I love her?”

That feels more correct.

Chaos in one hand. Grace in the other.

And Roger, who once again, has opinions and is still monitoring household fabrics with confidence.