This week has held a lot of young death. Naya Rivera, former star of “Glee,” mom extraordinaire, who used the last of her strength to save her little son. Grant Imahara, genius of “MythBusters,” died of a brain aneurysm.

So many Americans dying of a preventable pandemic. So many around the world, and I can’t help but think that the poor handling in the US has exacerbated the global issue.

Not a cheerful post today. Not a cheerful world today.

The day started with clouds, but they’ve stretched themselves thin and now they’re streaks against a wish-washy blue sky. This morning, the thought of not getting out bed occurred to me, but the things I have to do are not there.

Isn’t that always the way.

Besides, covers don’t insulate against reality. They only delay it a while.

It’s been a long three-and-a-half years, and the time seems to be stretching like silly putty.

Anyway, those things that forced me out of my comfy, pillowed state of denial beckon. Have a good Tuesday.

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Check out  my full-length novels: 
Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   
Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 
Her Cousin Much Removed
The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.
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