Now What?

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I don’t want to talk about it.

I’m so tired of being driven to anxiety by a raving lunatic.

I know there will be another immediate distraction because we are characters in a reality show being produced by someone who is trying to distract the world clear of the fact that he raped children.

But I don’t want to think about it.

It was 28 degrees when I got in the car this morning, but the sun came out, and by the end of the day, I was tossing the ball for Oliver in shorts and a hoodie.

Every day is an Ollieday.

For those wondering, he surpassed 15,000 catches for 2026.

He’s averaging about 180 a day.

It was Wednesday, and that’s a pasta day. I made linguine and clams, and it was outstanding. It was probably better because I thought about it all day.

Miller went to the spa.

My beautiful cat was washed, got a hair trim, his nails were also cut, and we heard this gem from the groomer:

“He was a little irritated with me, and tried to hide his nails in his belly rolls.”

The groomer fat shamed my buddy Miller.

Yet, he feels good about life.

The Yankees are off to a great start, and I’ve gone from watching games on my phone because the only two times I put them on the big television they lost.

They are 8 for 8 when I watch them on the phone.

So, the big television is free if you need it.

I’ll tell you one thing:

I won’t be watching the news.

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