Mornings are hard. . .

For me, for you, for everyone.

I got into a Facebook kerfuffle when a conservative Facebook friend took what I thought was an interesting post as a political insult.

I have more to do for my work than any one person should have to do--stories galore to write.

I have a freelance story due today on a subject, human, whom I'm not sure I grasp.

I am desperate for payday.


Okay, enough of me playing the world's smallest violin.

But there's always a silver lining to every cloud. He may have gone to school with a cold, but my kid got to picture day bathed, with a nice outfit and his glasses on, with his teeth brush and lunch in tow. He even got there on time.

A friend's post about the awesomeness of Nikola Tesla reminded me of this peppy OMD song Tesla Girls which, now being played a second time, is like musical Prozac:

And on Pinterest, where I'm surfing ideas because I'm not yet ready to attack my list of things to do,  I found this quote on writing that best describes my life. My existential angst is really just frustration at the space between my vision and my output.

Day improved. And if anyone or anything gets me down, inside my head I'll just start singing, "No. No. No. Tesla girls, Tesla girls, writing in their diaries. Now and then, they'll watch TV. Now and then they'll speak to me. But heaven knows, but heaven knows, but heaven knows, their recipe. . ."

--Sarah Torribio