My wife is trying to kill me with donuts, Patsy.

It’s not like I don’t LIKE donuts. I’m an average, regular, oxygen breathing human being with a soul and pulse. Of course I love donuts. I guess it’s the way I feel after that I don’t like? I don’t how to describe it, but being a parent has made me think I need to be ready for anything. Every physical challenge, every emotionally complex process they experience, and, sometimes, standing up rocking a 19-month old to sleep for 45 minutes.

Can’t do that with a warm Donut Belly, whose only purpose is whispering in my ear, “Sit down. It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything at all today. Just relaaaaaaaax.”

Curse you, Donut Belly, and your comfy ways.


Project: DEED is at the top of the work queue, ready to be put to sleep by the end of this month. All I have to do is *checks notes* write 2800 words a day from now until the end of June. Easy.

Thanks for reading,

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