THE STATE OF TEXAS HAS BEEN WARNED.

A collection of thoughts that didn’t make it to the blog.

From Judith’s Desk — Note dated July 31, 2026

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Yesterday, court ended early enough to present me with a rare and dangerous thing: a choice.

When I reached Farmerville around three, the road split. Straight ahead led home. One turn led to my office. The reasonable portion of my brain said, “Go straight home. Do not turn down that street. You know damn well that a five-minute stop will end at 8:30 tonight, followed by more work until four in the morning.”

Then the other portion of my brain—the one apparently sponsored by caffeine, poor judgment, and an untreated belief that I am solely responsible for holding civilization together—said, “Surely you possess the basic ability to stop yourself.”

So naturally, I turned.

At 8:30, I pulled into my driveway. At 4:00 a.m., I turned out the lights. This surprised absolutely no one except the woman who had spent the entire afternoon sincerely believing she was about to leave.

Today, I promised myself I would work only through the morning, handle an appointment, finish a few necessary things, and spend the afternoon with my children. At approximately 7:45 tonight—after telling my mother for two solid hours that I was “leaving right now”—I finally took a photograph of my vehicle outside the office and sent it to her as proof that I had physically exited the building.

That was probably the moment I realized this had progressed beyond “strong work ethic.” When your mother requires photographic evidence that you have put the laptop down and left the premises, you are no longer merely ambitious. You are participating in a hostage negotiation, except you are both the hostage and the person refusing to release her.

The problem with this particular brand of dysfunction is that it does not always look dysfunctional. The work is real. The research matters. The ideas are useful. The cases involve actual people whose lives may be changed by whether I find the right argument, the right document, or the right way to approach the right person. Overproduction can look remarkably impressive from the outside. Sometimes it even produces excellent results.

It is still not healthy.

I do not remember the last time I sat down and ate an actual meal. For at least the past week, I have worked until evening, handled whatever my children needed, then started again until somewhere around 4:00 or 4:30 in the morning. I have repeatedly established firm stopping times and then failed to notice them because I was so deeply buried in the work that time apparently became a rumor.

And now, because moderation has never once looked at me and thought, “There is a woman I understand,” I have booked a spontaneous trip to Great Wolf Lodge.

I am taking three children to Texas by myself.

Following a week of nearly nonexistent sleep, questionable nutrition, deteriorating health, and enough psychological strain to make an indoor water park seem like the reasonable option.

There is, however, a more truthful part of this story.

Ordinarily, this is exactly the kind of thing I would be thrilled to do. I would throw clothes into bags at midnight, load everyone into the vehicle before daylight, and consider the chaos part of the adventure. But the truth is that I have struggled badly this week. After everything that has happened over the past few months, I do not feel like the same person yet. More painfully, I do not always feel like I have fully become the same mother again.

That scares me.

My health has also deteriorated significantly. I wrote about part of that earlier this week, although there are pieces of Wednesday I still cannot discuss publicly. Last night, I told my parents that I was genuinely concerned about attempting this trip alone. My father agreed. He told me he believed it might be too soon, that he was worried I would get over there by myself and my health would fail me, leaving me alone with three children several hours from home.

So I decided not to go.

Then I woke up this morning to a text from him. He had reconsidered. He still had concerns, he said, but if I believed I could tough it out and make it through the weekend for the children, he thought it would be worth it. He believed I would not regret having done it.

And that was all it took.

The decision has been made. The reservation is booked. My fate has been sealed. Tomorrow, one exhausted single mother and three children will cross the Texas state line carrying bathing suits, snacks, emotional instability, and absolutely no coherent operational plan.

I am excited. I am scared. I am not entirely sure I can do it.

But I am going to try.

Prayers are appreciated. Check-ins are not merely welcomed; they are operationally necessary. Please confirm periodically that I remain alive, that all three children remain accounted for, and that I have not been discovered floating through the lazy river in a straightjacket while quietly drafting a legal memorandum on my phone.

JLH

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