44
“Write the ache,” my playwright friend says.
I went six weeks without writing here. Perhaps due to lack of ache. More likely, due to not wanting one.
Today I turn the age that coincides with the number of the last legitimate president this country had.
It’s been a week of celebrations and sugar skull themed gifts from my beloveds.
A week of royal wedding themed treats and new restaurants and a well earned (half) day off.
A week of wine and the world’s best cake and key lime pie.
The only thing that would make today better would be an indictment from the Mueller camp.
I’d love to say I want to write more, but I really don’t. I was inspired at a young age by the Transcendentalists, that the unexamined life isn’t worth living. But you know what? Spending less time examining and more time enjoying it ain’t so bad.
Seeya on the flipside. Maybe.
