My brain is so rusty with disuse that I can hear it creaking whenever I try to think about anything more challenging than "Is it time to the bathroom?". Is it the work? Is it the house? Is it the life? How does one fill a void one can't find? Should I have lived during the bubonic plague so that I'd have more substantial things to worry about?
All right, I need a break. This blog is on hiatus till further notice (or RSS update). Because melted icecream is just, well, mush. And no one likes mush.