Winter Cleavage

Christmas flew by as if it was only one day. It's the 26th of Decemburr; it's 29 American degrees and I'm shivering by the fireside. My proxy-life as a Philadelphia sports fan is shaping up nicely if my guy Joelly can stay healthy. My promising writing career is in the eternal draft-box—we've been through this! Bout to blow my X-mas cash on lottery tickets and a Large Fry. Listening to a bit more music of late—let my public radio guy blast some indietastic year-end mix with occasional political updates. For NPR(-affiliate), I'm Nick Blogger-and-this-is-All-Things-Considered. It's the twenty-sixth of December, forever, and the eerie dub-techno I'm listening to isn't helping me get over this breakup. Switch to some Fiona for the feel(ing)s—didn't like that shade of mascara anyway. "I don't wanna talk about anything," she emotes so controlled and delicate. Tears race out of my ducts, giving my laptop some semblance of humanity I guess. I'ma go read or s/t. 💔