Non sequitur

I have been trying to write something for a couple of days now. The two ideas I had fell apart when prodded. The first: hometown wakes are like high school reunions with a corpse. The second: if I were writing a novel about this moment in history, things being what they are, my protagonist would be a kickass but compassionate fembot assassin that looks like Katharine Hepburn.

Neither one of these two nuggets panned out. The first is potentially offensive and the second could land me on a government watch list, but no worries. My anxious brain is too squirrely to formulate.

What I have been able to do on my computer is obsess over Hermès scarves. Have you seen those things? Like wearing art! They cost a small fortune. I have been stalking resale luxury websites for an authenticated one I might possibly afford if I sell my car, though to be honest, I wouldn’t even want to own one. It’s way too much responsibility. But when I am examining them, I forget how dark it is out there and maybe I should be doing something about it, like rounding up my kids and grandkids and heading for Canada.

The news is grim, but let me tell you about this Hermès shawl, All'Orto Botanico di Palermo. It’s so random and beside the point, but so intricate and lovely you get lost in it if you are, like me, looking to get lost.