In a few naked minutes I learned that self-diagnosis is worth exactly what you pay for it.
I ask myself, why am I not also a writer of erotica of the sort people pay for, and read aloud to their partner between the sheets and sleep?
I have the insane thought, How did he do that? How does a dog move his water bowl without spilling it?
The experience of menopause can be mitigated with new lubricants, new toys, new technology, and new thinking.
They say a dog’s nose inhales information the way people read. So when I see Moon sniffing, I figure he’s perusing the books of other dogs.
It took a while for me to get used to posting pictures of myself, but I quickly learned that people will scroll past blocks of text. I’m a writer. I don’t exist if you don’t read me.
Life meanders politely, eyes meet, pleasantries are exchanged, civilization is tamped down to a well worn path. Odors rise unremarked. No fart jokes in a church basement, nothing obtrusive. Just adults mixed with sugar.