It's Sunday morning, and even though the rain hasn't started, I can smell the change it in the air, you know what I'm talking about, that scent of Petrichor, that earthy smell filling the air when the first drops dash themselves to death upon stones and concrete. Of course, if I'm smelling it we must already be under a bit of a drizzle.
And yes, it is going to rain today. Heavy at times. And we are under a snow watch for later this evening when the cold air descending from Canada overwhelms the moisture ridden air from the south. Nothing to actually write home about; the ground temps are going to be too warm.
I saw that Ryan O'Neal died and made the mistake of reading his obit. He made one good movie (Paper Moon), but everything else was pretty much he and his agent trying to cash in on his pretty boy looks. You know there were problems in the family when he and one of his sons got arrested for drug possession.
I am working today. The rain will keep shoppers away. Well, most of them at least. Since I haven't work this past week, I've not experienced seeing the disappointment in the eyes of those potential customers when they're being told that "no, it's too late to have your carpet installed by Christmas." Sometimes they get angry when they hear those words. To me, it's like rain off of a duck's back.
I've started putting little videos of my books on TikTok. Maybe one or two of those sex workers who friended me will buy one.
Here's a cute picture of Lily sitting on a pillow looking out the window. This is what royalty looks like, in case you didn't know.
Will this be a foray in to fun filled politics? The Orange Anus will be taking the stand again in NYC trying to save his business. There will be an appeal when he loses most of his fictitious financial empire. This is how he works. His pricy legal team will attempt to litigate every one of the 91 charges against him to death. Been there, seen it before, and it will happen again. The more this happens, the angrier he's going to get, as every one of his lies gets torn away, like so many layers of his thin skin, until the only thing left will be the hulking skeleton of the Spawn of Satan.