Temperature: 10/50 degrees. In the middle of November. R i i i g h t.
Eating: sensibly; the season to stuff our faces is closing in, and you know you probably will, so how about we don’t jump the gun on this one; it will end in tears and indigestion.
Drinking: see above
Watching: The Righteous Gemstones. Under his eye. Shamelessly. (Oh and have you seen Russian Doll? Whyever not? Natasha Lyonne is to die for. Pun 110% intended. And that song is gonna get stuck inside your head.)
Listening: Gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the mo-o-orning comes… Oh great. Just great. I mean a Christmas carol! Christmas carol!! Hey, it’s my son on the piano. Am I going to curb his musical ambition and enthusiasm? Hardly.
Reading: Elizabeth Strout’s Olive, Again.
Writing: stuff for work. I fully intend to take time off around the holidays, so no time to muck about now.
Thinking: It’s not just Arthur Fleck, is it? It is getting crazier out there. Same as it ever was, sweetie darlings. Same as it ever was.
Feeling: a slight tickling in my throat; you know, the kind that announces the arrival of some virus or other. Oh great. Just great. Kettle on. ✔️ Zinc out. ✔️ Skip Zumba. ✔️ Bite me. I bite back.
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