Tom got me a sled for Valentine's Day. I got him a dozen oysters at Eventide Oyster Company. However, we were too sick to sled or eat oysters, so instead we spent a slack-jawed evening on the couch drinking tea, blowing our noses, and staring at episodes of Arrested Development. I feel slightly better this morning, but still pretty much like crap. Nonetheless, I am going to rally my inner forces and go for a walk before the snow starts up again. And I am going to sweep the floors. And possibly I am going to edit a manuscript without inserting errors. Tom, who is a mathematically precise carpenter, says that he has been measuring things wrong for days. Likewise, I have been barely able to figure out how to change a sentence from passive to active voice. [Look, a sentence written in passive voice! You fix it, because I can't be bothered.]
On the bright side, however, I have not engaged in any treasonous conversations with Russia . . . or have I? I mean, as Trump's campaign pal Paul Manafort points out, “It’s not like these people wear badges that say, ‘I’m a Russian intelligence officer.’” Geez, any one of us could have accidentally discussed dropping sanctions or fixing an election. I'm sure all of the White House officials are as pure and innocent as newborn babes [choke, cough, sneeze].
These past three weeks of governance have felt like a century.