Sometimes I’m thinky and sometimes I’m not, and I’m caught between several ideas that are difficult to write about without getting angry or anxious.
Yesterday I was still profoundly tired from all the socializing during the weekend. And today I’m still feeling less than my optimal self.
I’d blame it on turning forty-night*, but I’m pretty accustomed to being almost-fifty as it is. Though now, this part of the month is compounded by deaths and terror attacks and other residual anniversaries. Living half-a-century will do that to every part of every year, though.
* Forty-nine, but that’s an awesome typo.