I’m in a serious reading slump. I started and abandoned four books this week. Nothing holds my interest. I’m not holding out too much hope for the YA romance I started this morning. I might just have to reread something.

The Fuck All Y’alls have come early. Well, I guess they’re early because usually they come in August and as you know it’s still July. It’s been July for about twelve weeks now. The Fourth of July was four score and seven years ago. I don’t know how time works anymore.

Starting a writing project on the eve of Fuck All Y’all season was probably not the best idea I ever had. It’s not the worst, though. No, that was the fried egg & grilled cheese sandwich I made for lunch, which my body literally turned into toxic waste hours after ingesting it. My body is an asshole who has decided after 45 years of being good friends with egg & cheese sandwiches that now they are the enemy and must be shown the exit as quickly as possible.

Aging is so glamorous. I’m super boring. Orange you glad I’m not regaling you with tales about the joys of perimenopause. Orange you? Huh?