I Don’t Know

I don’t know, guys.

I don’t know what to say.

I can’t keep doing all your thinking for you.

And America – you need to be put on a time-out. Immediately. The whole lot of you, except for your President and his fam jam, because I am sure they could use a break from your shit.

I know I could.

Frustrated by more ongoing stuff I can’t talk about.

Mostly I am just PMS-y, though. Sad, angry, defeated, hungry, tired, grumpy, whiny…the best of the seven dwarfs, really. That’s where the idea for my fractured fairy-tale, Ebon Black and the Seven Dryads, came from, anyway.

Why weren’t they called ‘dwarves’? Is it like the Toronto Maple Leafs? Or is English just weird?

Know what else are weird? Feet. Especially toes.

I paid bills this morning and I’m going to pick up shiny new litter boxes tonight. I’m pretty much having a banner day.

There will, of course, be beer.

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