I don’t like it. My parents separated when I was young. They each lived most of their lives, subsequent, alone. I have wrestled with my loneliness for years. A loneliness that doesn’t necessarily respond to “company.” I feel alone most…

I don’t like waiting.

So much to write. So little time.

In which I issue an apology to any number of people I may have wronged and, in so doing, (I hope) clear up an unfortunate and lengthy case of writer’s block.

My fellow humans disappoint me. Unspeakable violence reverberates. The world is made badly.

We make eye contact. Quizzical, her eyebrows rise. Who are these people?

The other day, I indicated my inability, currently, to write. I have a big project before me, a professional project that inspires… terror… for all sorts of reasons. Partly, because a previous, related project resulted in nothing short of disaster…

The bartender is annoyed because I haven’t given him a name. “What name would you like?”, I asked him. “Logan,” he said. Instantly. And so he shall be.

Remember this? Well, here we are again. Nancy just spanked Donald. And I have the sense there’s a not insignificant part of him that liked it.