Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

Fifty-one years ago, the most brilliant lyricist (imho) wrote; "They say that these are not the best of times But they're the only times I've ever known" Words still relevant. Words that I can not get out of my head. Occasionally I pepper in; "Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity" and also,  "Between reality and madness It's either sadness or euphoria" I desperately cling to the words of Billy Joel. I desperately try to overcome my anguish and horror and fear. I blare the song 'Summer, Highland Falls' and the album 'Cold Spring Harbor' as I fall and sink and cry and hide and stare at the dark.

What. Who. It's coming. We are not armed. All pawns. All screwed. Forced.

"Excuse me. You're standing on my neck." -Theme from Daria  We peaked in the 90s.

I have not  One thing to say As I reflect Upon this day

I have bilateral carpal tunnel, and I'm exceedingly clumsy. I always take extra care when handling fragile things, especially if they don't belong to me.  At work, I've never been asked, but I always empty the dishwasher. The people I work for are exceptionally kind, welcoming, etc. They're the best people I've worked for at the best job I've ever had.  Today, I was removing glasses from the dishwasher. Somehow, I broke a glass as I removed it from the rack. As I turned the shards over in my hands, I saw it was my boss's favorite glass. Happy Tuesday!  

Nothing is more unsettling than the stench of black licorice or honeydew melon. The thought of either makes me feel ill. The gassy, choking odor of the supposed candy or the doubled-over nauseous smell from the gross, bald, melon, how disgusting.  Unchecked stupidity. Like when people use religion to hate monger. Or when people are racist, prejudiced, homophobic... Animals not being treated like the royalty they are. I wish every dog and cat lived like mine, precious and revered.

Enjoying Boston Sports- The Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins, and Celtics. Art- sewing, painting, drawing, sculpting, etc. Reading- The Babysitters Club, American Girls, Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Game of Thrones, etc. Movies/TV- The Wizard of Oz, The Sound of Music, The Brady Bunch, Full House, etc. Writing- I've attempted most iterations at one time or another. I feel like everything else ebbs and flows from love it, to like it, to hate it. Or maybe it's indifference or never having tried. Who knows.

Upon learning what demi girl meant, I immediately, in my head, started singing "demi girl kinda life, baby, baby, I want something else..." And then I couldn't help but think; at this age, one could hardly be called a girl. And also, the opportunity to coin the term femi-guy was missed, and I'd much prefer that. Ah, well.

...time, time, time, and the livin's easy, sang Janis Joplin. She is quite right. I feel very blessed to have the job I do and the people I work for. It should be a happy, easy, lovely summer. I'm very thankful.  Also, 80 more days.

"But we choose between reality and madness It's either sadness or euphoria" -Summer, Highland Falls

Fred in front of me, white face and pink nose. He isn't amused with me, and it shows. Loki curled up, a floofy loaf of bread. He sees me open my eyes and tilts his head.  Spike peeks over from above, black as the night. The alarm won't go off for 41 more minutes, but they're going to fight.  Three of the five are yelling at me to get out of bed right now. The other two watch their brothers mew, "owwww oww." Pointless to try and go back to sleep, never did get to that alarm beep. So I hop out of bed and dole out the wet and dry food to the kitten brigade, hoping my nagging sleepiness will fade.

“I’d rather take coffee than compliments just now.” -Amy March, Little Women Drinks coffee, while looking at coffee tattoo, while reading coffee quotes.  Cheers, my bean juice lovin' dears!

Is it crazy to write a sequel to a book that...well, we'll see. Here's an excerpt, wink. "We agreed, pretty much from day one, that he would cook and I would clean," she explains. "I'm good with tap water and dinner that can be microwaved or picked up, but [name] likes- and cooks- food that could be served at a fancy restaurant, and he's a bit of an oenophile."

Flutter sleeves on a lavender dress. Flutter in my  stomach and Heart.  Big blue eyes glance at the white  buttons down a light blue shirt. A hug, and a kiss as the sun  shines through the window.

My anxiety flows like a violently cascading river down from my brain where it's recklessly bouncing off the pink, or is it grey, walls. It gets caught in my throat, aided in its nuisance by the pollen dust that makes a New England backyard look like the chartreuse dust bowl. It continues still, right to my stomach, and that's where it thrives. Good for it, bad for me. My stomach and heart seem to mold together just under my ribcage. They pound in a flopping sort of way. Sometimes it's right to left, and sometimes it's up and down. It's an annoying mix of fear, so much fear, and what-ifs for the bad and what-ifs for the good. When did simply existing become such an internal battle? An anxious, mental battle that will have no winner. Oh, right, this started when I was five. But that was decades ago, and now I'm on edge, a good one, I swear, because wow, does that sound terrible out of context. It's just the entire summer. Every day of my favorite time of year.