It's been 84 years...

It hasn’t been 84 years, but it sure does feel like that.

First off, apparently Squarespace has AI features now. That is horrifying to me, so I will absolutely try to ignore that feature that’s in the shape of a lightning bolt in the corner of the screen that’s waves me Hello as I try to write this. Sometimes, technology is horrifying.

Secondly, I’m 28, so it has not been 84 years since I’ve last been on this website writing to you all. But, it has been a few months. Apologies. Things have been busy, to say the least. There was a time a few weeks ago that I was so stressed about some things that were happening in my life that I kept dreaming (for a week straight) that either I or my loved ones were getting murdered. So, that wasn’t great. The other stressful but incredible thing that’s happening is that I’m in grad school! I’m approaching my second week, so send prayers. I’m currently in the middle of 3 books, so I’m reading like my life depends on it. My scholarship does, in fact, depend on how well I do in these classes. So, I’m trying to be as on top of things as I possibly can. Who knew that getting a master’s in English would mean you read hundreds of pages a week? Well, I did. Here we are.

Another fun tidbit that’s really new is that I have joined a writer’s group. Shoutout to you guys, because I am currently writing during one of our meetings. I am currently experiencing what the experts call “writer’s block” with a certain part of my book, so I’m mixing things up and writing on here instead. Here’s to hoping that these oat milk mochas that I drink at this coffee shop meeting place gives me enough strength and mental vigor to finish this book. It’s one that I’ve been working on for years, one that I famously (amongst my friend group) completely lost when I accidentally spilled a pumpkin spice latte on my latte without having backed up my book up until that point. Apparently flirting with a barista can distract you enough that you knock over a tablespoon’s worth amount of PSL and completely destroy a laptop that housed everything that you had been working on for years. So, yeah. Flirting is dangerous in my eyes.

Here we are, everyone. 2024: I’ll be turning 29 years old which is horrifying/exciting; I’ll have finished my first year of grad school (wut); I might have what’s considered medium-length hair by December (fingers crossed I don’t get the urge to do anything edgy and rash); hopefully I’ll get many more tattoos; and Harper, my dog, will be 8 years old. Things are weird but a good weird. I have a good feeling about 2024.

And with that, my farewell. Godspeed.

Reagan Fleming

Gabbing with Stevie King

It’s been a while. How long? That is something that I could totally look up on my website, but eh, I’ll just say “a while” and call it good.

Many things are happening in my life, it seems. A lot of them are good, I’m happy to say. I’ve applied to grad school, I’m learning how to speak more freely about my emotions (which is, in a word, horrifying), my dog is six years old now (she’s still a puppy in my heart), I’ve discovered the art of putting my hair into tiny space buns since it’s shoulder-length, The Bachelorette is back on the air and Joey is the most precious contestant, and I’ve moved to a new house with my roommates. I have read 22 books since the beginning of the year—shoutout to Christina Lauren, Ali Hazelwood, and Emily Henry for coming out with possibly their best books yet—and I’m currently reading The Stand by Stephen King. Or, as I like to call him: Stevie King, like he and I are gal-pals who grab coffee on the weekends and just gab. If you know anything about me at all, and I’m assuming you do if you read this blog semi-regularly or if you have eyes and have looked at the picture posted above, you know that I am a very big fan of Stephen King. I started reading The Stand and watching the limited series under the same name, and I am loving both of them equally. It’s definitely not as creepy as It or The Shining, but it’s a very good post-apocalyptic story. It’s disgustingly hot where I live, so I’ve been reading outside on the porch with iced coffees and the smell of bug spray in the air mostly every day. It’s the best.

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Things seem to be on the upswing in my life. The reason being that, I’m assuming, my meds are at a good dosage, I’m feeling really good about how my writing process is going for my novel, and my roommates and I had an intense meeting the other day where we were super honest with each other. The talk was rough but good. Since I hate talking about my emotions and the idea of having a super honest conversation makes me want to hurl, we all decided to take a shot before we started the convo. We dove into how we felt about the move to our new house, how we were feeling about ourselves, and how we were feeling as roommates. Ever since then, I believe that the floodgates of my emotions have opened. And boy, are emotions a horrifying concept for me. Here’s a little breakdown of the past few days:

• Thursday: We had the roommate chat. I just went on crying until those precious little tear ducts were absolutely exhausted.

• Friday: Some girlfriends came over to have a viewing party for the new season of The Summer I Turned Pretty. We snacked. We drank. We shrieked when “Invisible String” by Taylor Swift started playing during a very, very precious part of one of the episodes. I could feel deep down while watching that I needed to cry, but I was genuinely frustrated with myself that I wasn’t able to shed any tears. As soon as everyone left, I started sobbing in the kitchen. Woof.

• Saturday: Some workers came by our house to pick up and dispose of the branches by the end of our driveway, and they had a massive crane, so I was asked to move my car out of the way. Any normal human would think, “Oh, that totally makes sense. I’ll totally move my car right now.” However, I had a freakout over this for some reason, and I couldn’t even tell ya why I was fuming. I then cried another ungodly amount while I was talking to my roommates, and I discovered some important things about myself. We then got boba tea, shopped, and finished the night with a movie that I (regrettably) fell asleep during the last half hour. All in all, it was an incredible day, but I was exhausted from all the crying I had done. It was an emotional workout.

• Sunday: I’m happily at a coffee shop, writing to you now. :) The rest of the day is TBD.

Reagan Fleming

We're Playin' Basketball

Basketball is a family thing for me. When I watch it, I think of my dad, my coach for years, and how he played against and coached others. My whole family played basketball at one time or another. Growing up, I would join my sister and dad as they practiced out front in the driveway after dinner. It was a nightly ritual. At the time, I may or may not have been on a team, but I would be out there with them, learning new techniques of how to guard someone and trying to inch my way back to successfully make a three-pointer. I also learned how to quickly recover after getting smacked in the head with a basketball.

In these practices, I learned that the best form to have while shooting is by holding the basketball in your dominant hand like you would hold a pizza box from the bottom. Then, you’d gently rest the ball on the side with your other hand. When you go up to shoot, only your prominent hand shoots up. As far as dribbling goes, I apparently had a difficult time not looking at my hands (please see the photo above, so my dad got me these goggles to put on my face to keep my hands out of sight. They honestly really helped me, and hey, I looked cute too.

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I mean, look at me. Look at that smile. It’s pretty evident that I love the game, and the game loves me.

I remember one game in particular with my first co-ed team. (Don’t worry, I did not wear those dribbling goggles in actual practice or during games.) I don’t know what got into this girl, but once she grabbed the ball, she held on for dear life and took off up and down the court. The referee had to blow the whistle, and my dad explained how traveling was against the rules of basketball. He was very sweet with her even though traveling was an obvious no-no, and it was evident that he was the dad of all girls. He had to put up with our emotional outbursts, constant fighting (looking back now, the fact that we ever fought is hilarious because we’re all very close now), and other things that happen in an all-girl household. He was a quiet but sweet and calming guy, and any amount he opened up to you seemed like a gift because he didn’t do that for everyone.

My dad as a high school sophomore on his basketball team.

My dad was just the coolest basketball player. I think it’s pretty obvious where I got my style from when our pictures are side by side.

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I’ve always been interested in seeing basketball games live. I always thought, If I’m going to see any sport live, it’ll be basketball. Football or baseball? I could care less. Basketball is something that I knew the rules to, and it’s something I enjoyed doing with my dad. However, I stopped playing basketball after my dad died. He passed away when I was 12, so I only had elementary and middle school years’ worth of basketball experience, but it was enough to instill the rules and love for the sport. I’ve lived in Oklahoma since I came here for college, and I only went to my first OKC Thunder basketball game last year with my friend Ann (see picture). From that one game, I became hooked. As one might have guessed (as well as my friends), I am a big Josh Giddey fan. He is the Australian/Oklahoman/basketball-playing Timotheé Chalamet the world needs. Maybe one of these days I’ll get close enough seats to be able to take a close-up of my boi. But that will be the day that I physically melt on the shiny wood floor of the court and embarrass the hell out of myself. My other favorite players are Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, Lugentz Dort, Tre Mann, and Jaylin Williams. Which Jaylin Williams, you may ask? All of them. I love my Thunder boys. Each game I go to is a bit bittersweet—I always think how much my dad would love to join me to watch my new home state’s NBA team play, and I think of how happy he would be for me for finding so much joy in these games.

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Reagan Fleming