What's up, Buttercup?
I'm reading Richard Ford's The Sportswriter. It's full of beautiful sentences. Just flip to a page, and... "If there's another thing that sportswriting teaches you, it is that there are no transcendent themes in life. In all cases things are here and they're over and that has to be enough. The other view is a lie of literature and liberal arts..." (page 16).
Professionals go on vacation in August (it's well documented ) and those of us who rely on them fidget and toss and turn at night. A bit.
Some of my "I Make Things" supplies are out of storage which has filled me with inspiration. And now wanting. I want more of it. The inspiration and the stuff.
My health insurer rejected a doctor's prescription because...I'm too old. The cut-off is thirty-six. Ageist mother-effers.
I am a woman who possesses (wow, that's a lot of ess-es) a wine cellar but has taken to buying cheap Oriveto at Big Mac's Liquors. $8.99 and it is oh-so-quaffable. I sip it (ok, sometimes gulp) and I think to myself: What painting is it best paired with?
It's summer still. It is. But the sky is gray and so are a few curly hairs on my head. But you can't tell. Because I get highlights regularly. My stylist is so not an ageist.