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Had to order something called a “happy hoodie” for the old lady Siamew. She has an ear infection, is being treated for it, yet is now scratching furrows in her right ear. So, hopefully this will protect her ears from herself.

Aside from my paranoia as an adult, my parents’ homophobia is likely the only reason they haven’t figured out I’m bi. Hearing your teenage girl singing the chorus of Spill the Wine as “Do I dig that girl? Heh!” probably should have made them question things. Fortunately, Heiferlump just thinks I’m embarrassing; her reaction to me singing is to roll over, grunt, fart, and go back to sleep with her paws over her nose. Cats don’t let you get a big head. (Yeah. Almost forty and I just figured out I’ve been singing that wrong all these years. Freud would be clicking his heels with joy over that slip. And almost forty and I only noticed now that autocorrect cut my age the first time. Ugh.)

Every now and then, I take up a small sewing, mending, or needlework project, and I wonder why I don’t do it more often. Then I realize exactly why: somewhere between my chair and the back door—over half the house—is a one inch long needle the thickness of one of my husband’s beard hairs, dangling from thread the color of our floors, and I’m effectively blind. ...because I heard a bird. Yes. I heard a bird and walked through several doorways, needle in hand, to see what it was; on the way back, my brain dumped its cache and the needle vanished. It has ceased to exist. It’s a brand new needle, too, so sharp AF. And our floors have streaks of grey, so the needle blends in like it’s invisible. Unless I magnet-sweep while walking like a Jain with a broom, the second my shoes come off, that little bugger is going to come careening out of nowhere like a heat-seeking missile just so it can stab me in the foot. Curse you, happy singing bird, for damning my feet to such fowl treatment. I may all your bath water be just slightly too warm or cold to be perfect.

Did you know New York actually has 12 seasons? https://12seasons.nyc/

Beware the Ides of March!

"will-o'-the-wisp happenstance acclivity" or "brown library movement of good fortune compulsion " or "guesstimate happenstance door " Are these spam bots, or just trying to come up with some old style weekly prompts?

“Necromancy is so misunderstood. Just trying to give people a second chance on life!”

Pro Writing Aid is on such crack. I use actual line-breaks; it doesn’t recognize them as line-breaks and cries about “scenes bleeding into each other” and “mid-scene shifts in POV.” I use extra spaces, ditto, and same with several other ideas. It wasn’t even recognizing transitions, as it tends to. Well, I finally broke down and started writing this... ...every time I change to a new scene, just to hammer it in for the programming. This does not make it onto the finished product; I replace it with a proper line-break before posting because my readers aren’t morons. Well, today, PWA has something new to cry about: Make up your goddamn mind, you worthless pile of code! I can’t psychically implant into your processors that I’m changing the scene, and you can’t recognize that a scene is being changed, so what the hell am I supposed to do? Just let your tantrum drag down my writing score because you can’t find any actual errors that need to be fixed?! I swear. My writing skills have improved since I started using this app for editing, but my blood pressure has worsened. It wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass if any of the errors I’ve reported had ever been addressed instead of just happening time and time again.

Sleeping naked is the shit when you’re young. Then, one day, you’re middle-aged with a cat who likes sleeping between the sheets and has frigid toes, and you start second guessing everything. Heiferlump, by the way, wasn’t just thawing out her frosted toebeans on my bare ass. She also kept wiping her cold, wet nose on the ticklish spot between my thigh and cheek every time I dozed off. I’m not ashamed to say I committed the unforgivable crime of yeeting the baby off the bed. I’m not sorry. Kid needs some fuzzy socks or something.

Always love your pets. You never know when you’ll lose them.