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Glass Animals sure can make some sexy music. Even when the subject matter isn’t, the music still is. and I mean like crazy sexy. “Oh you’re singing about a former schoolmate who almost committed a mass shooting? Okay okay. but damn if I don’t wanna be sliding up against you right now.”

It’s not just me is it? Is it?

Of course, this is also the longest I’ve ever gone without sex, so I can find the sexy in pretty much anything right now.

Considered tinder again, even though I hate it. But maybe? Maybe? I’m waxxed, vaxxed and maxxed. When the kids are away, the kitty wants to play. so maybe. Probably not. But maybe.

Is there a sad fat old lady tinder? Cause that’s what I need. a “look covid was really hard on me physically mentally and emotionally but I’m still really good at BJs” tinder? Cause that’s what I need.

Sometimes all I think about is you. Late nights in the middle of June.

Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe I am already asleep, always asleep, never awake. Sleep isn’t eluding me, it’s engulfing me. The waking world isn’t ready for me.

Two hours ago, I was slow-motion-underwater-legs-in-quicksand sleepy. My arrogance was bold, brash. “Sleepless tonight? No way Jose! Not for this girl! It’s good night sleep tight see ya in dream town.” I finished what I was doing and brushed my teeth and kissed baby ginger a hundred million times and got into bed and then… nothing.

AND LOOK AT ME NOW. Awake, too late for me to take anything, too early for me to jump off a cliff. Nothing left to do but wait for sleep. It’ll come eventually.

In the meantime, I can enjoy the cool night air coming in from the window. It feels good on my skin and in my lungs, especially after the heat of the past week. And it is raining. Soft, lovely, sweet.

also lovely? The loud braying of my upstairs neighbor’s constantly-running AC, even though it’s only 52° out right now. you know what they say. heat rises! so it must be at least 55° up there. Sweltering.

wasn’t it Walt Whitman who devoted several pages in leaves of grass to the mechanical beauty of summertime in America?

Okay it’s not fair for me to complain about loud people loudly living their lives (I mean pot kettle black right?!) but what can I say. I am large I contain multitudes.

My pandemic year 2 birds have hatched. I do not know how many. At least two. Probably more. They make me happy although maybe not as much joy as last year’s birds. Year 1 birds really affected me. It was an emotional experience. Now I’m just pleased the birds returned and found safe haven again in my life and we keep to ourselves mostly, we aren’t sharing stories and hopes and secrets like before.

In other news. Remember the possibly attractive scrabble player who was destroying me in wwf? Well the game is taking forever to finish and I have been able to only play single letters for the past fifteen rounds. so I finally said to him please please will you please just put me out of my misery. And he responded! And he told me I was funny! He said in fact “your quite funny.”

So now I need to Hercules poirot this shit because you can’t be a person who absolutely wrecks me in scrabble and also say “your funny” and then carry on as if everything is fine. As if a train has not just gone off the rails. These things are not congruent. Something is amiss. Strange things afoot. I will find the detail in the devil.

This is my life now I barely have to wear clothes anymore and who cares about deodorant, but I will, I shall, I must get to the bottom of this, this chaos, this mystery, the case of the wwf crushing, and the truth will be revealed.

Or not. I mean who cares. He’s probably just a cheater.

When I was shopping at Costco, I saw my future self.

Her cart had all the same things I buy. Her clothes were the same clothes I wear. Her shoes were my shoes. Her hair, my hair.

She is me. Not today but soon. Very soon.