“Verify you’re human,” read a message on my computer after I clicked a search result today, but no CAPTCHAs appeared; the small matter of my humanity was quickly and satisfactorily resolved by automated process and I was sent on my way. That my input wasn’t required was a wry reminder of, and apt metaphor for,

“Our bathtub attacked me earlier,” I told Crankenstein this evening, after she’d recounted the highlights of her day. Before I could add “While I was naked and vulnerable,” which would’ve alerted her to my amusement, her brow shot toward the ceiling and her eyes widened in concern. Disconcerted by her reaction — it was as

Tonight I must go to bed early so Crankenstein, who is stressed and sad about various things, can use me as a human pillow. I’m not sure why she continues to find this relaxing, knowing as she does that my limbs (and sometimes entire body) will flail and jerk at unexpected noises, or if I

If you knew me offline, you’d know that I’m normally politically cantankerous enough to revive from my deathbed just long enough to say “And another thing about Karl Rove…” right as they’re about to pull a sheet over my head. Despite that, and despite knowing how devastated and frightened half the country’s been since Tuesday

The craziest thing happened last night: I slept. One minute I was yawning and working on an unfinished recap of my (uneventful) day, and the next I was so tired that I barely made it into bed before falling asleep.* It was a rare treat to pass out so quickly because it’s nearly impossible to

I’m posting this prior to editing it, just to get it out of my hair without having to write a McCheese tonight. It won’t be cleaned up until Tuesday, so read at your own peril. When do you cut your losses and write someone off completely? I’ve grappled with this lately when it comes to

All the scintillating details of the last couple days — adventures with Crankenstein; more spray painting; how I can’t look at the cover of David L. Lander’s multiple sclerosis memoir without laughing (because the Squiggy photo reminds me of my sister’s selfie face) — will have to wait, because there’s been movement on the SSDI

“Do you put your dogs in Halloween costumes?” I asked the physical therapist today as she cut and stretched pieces of tape for my foot. We weren’t discussing our dogs, or even Halloween for that matter, but I had a feeling it was a fertile subject that might successfully redirect our small talk from questions

What a nice way to kick off the weekend, donning a kitchen apron (lest my shirt get stained by anything but my own dinner) and shuffling out to the patio to besmirch our first spray paint booth (or large empty box) of the season. The purpose of this grimy quarter-scale structure will be revealed soon

I’m writing this in the afternoon, much earlier than usual, because Crankenstein and I stopped by the drugstore for our flu shots this morning and I got an annual Covid booster while I was at it. (She’ll get hers at work.) Since I’m not sure when, or if, the usual side effects might descend, this