I do not have the time nor the patience for this today.

The world may be falling apart, but TJ’s double chocolate muffins still exist.

Uh oh. I think he figured it out.

Dear People Who Write Things (Authors? Journalists? Scriptistses?):
The correct phrasing is “nurse.” Unless there is a literary need to specify the gender of every medical staff person on the unit, context clues are always enough.

In sum: No cheezits. Guilty for yelling at spouse. Weepy because dad forgot to bring me donuts (that happened too). Sweaty and shivering. Brain zaps. And post surgical pain. Then the cat got into the bedroom and woke us up early because “I’m hungry.” Whatever, cat.

Roger Pushkin has entered the groaning and showing off his thumbos part of the evening.

When your friend tells you to watch a tiny desk concert and you do and then your friend says the band is playing a concert in November and your friend is thinking of going and you say they should go and then you say you would go with them, that’s what friends do.

Roger Pushkin was feeling pensive this morning. (And yes, we do leave the ironing board by the window so he can visit with his winged friends. It’s called building community.)