Here is me, sitting on the roof of my car somewhere along I-5, holding up signs that my son and I scrawled on the blank pages of a Melissa & Doug coloring book that we picked up at a roadside gift shop specializing in BBQ rubs and adorable wall hangings that read "Wine A Bit; You'll Feel Better."

The signs I'm holding in that photo, in case you can't read them, say "SCIENCE MATTERS" and "FACTS MATTER." My son wanted his to say "MAD SCIENCE." We had been reading about Saturday's March For Science all morning, but hadn't thought to plan ahead so we could join one. We drove through miles and miles of dusty fields on our way home from the campsite where we'd spent our weekend, trying to explain what was happening to our son via the story of the Lorax. Finally we stopped, and bought a coloring book to make signs with. Then we parked our car by the freeway off-ramp, set beach towels on the blisteringly hot roof, and I crawled up, aware that I was about to seriously embarrass myself.

Then I started yelling. Mostly call-and-response chants, because despite the fact that they don't make a whole lot of sense for a party of one, I like them.

Kern River Campground | Bakersfield, California

The first thing my children do when they wake up in the morning - every morning - is ask to watch TV. The answer is virtually always no (except for on the weekends, when the answer is yes, of course; here are some Quentin Tarantino movies and Doritos; go away). But over the course of each and every day it pops up over and over again:

Can I watch Wellie Wishers? No.

No-Name Blouse (similar)  Destroyed Jeans Who What Wear Slides

Vivienne Westwood Purse Hat Attack Fedora

I'm going to call this look "Re-Emerging From Hibernation." All winter long, you know what I've been wearing? These. In public. The first time I did this my mom looked at me in mild horror and said "...But those are pajamas." Except I never wear them as pajamas, because that might mean they'll be in the laundry and I won't be able to wear them where I really want to wear them, which is everywhere, all the time. Whatever, I'm cold and my muscles have atrophied from lack of use and I've spent the past five months turning a very special shade of pale that is more or less translucent (with attractive red blotches in key spots, like on my face).

I have always been the kind of person who worries a lot about money, to the point where it's a preoccupation. Sure, a lot of this is because I've always had a job that comes along with significant uncertainty - I never know what the next year (or even the next month) of my life will look like, financially speaking - but still: for years and years (until pretty recently, actually), I made my life far more stressful than it had to be by putting off the decision to come up with an actual plan.

When things are going well - money's coming in, no major unexpected expenses are popping up - it's easy to sail along in a happy bubble of obliviousness; I know this first-hand, because I've spent a lot of time hanging out in that bubble. But then - inevitably - the bubble pops. And you find yourself in a world of pain.

As an example, I thought I'd tell a story I'm not sure I've ever touched upon here, even though I've certainly been asked about it plenty over the years. (Spoiler: it's about my dog. But stay with me; I'm going somewhere with this.)