Been largely static for the past few weeks. Didn’t bother with a newsletter last week, and I spend much of my mornings in bed with abdominal cramps. My right hip and lower back hurt. Minimizing caffeine in case that’s aggravating gut issues.

A post on Bluesky pimping a former freelancer’s workshop triggered me this morning. The freelancer went ballistic on us a couple of times with angry emails after getting negative feedback on their work, even sending ostensibly whistleblowing complaints to the agency we were contracting with.

In short, that person is nuts, and yet they’re working somewhat and I’m not.

It’s been almost a year since I was laid off. I’ve been up and down about it. I’d like to think that recalibrating and recovering from burnout would take less than a year. Yet it feels like I have yet to recover much at all. If anything, I’m in even more of an existential crisis than I was a year ago.

Who am I, really? I mean, almost all the people who told me who or what I should be are dead. And I’ve effectively cut out of my life whoever else insists on telling me what to do with myself. I’m not sure I’ve ever taken the opportunity to really decide for myself who or what to be. And on the verge of my 60th birthday, that’s an overwhelming feeling.

This Peacock live stream makes me wish I could catch the CBC Olympic coverage like I did two summers ago during a Detroit hotel stay.

NBC just reminded us that Snoop Dogg will be making an appearance with the Jamaican bobsledding team. Of course he is.

Based on the wrapped-in-aluminum models bearing the names of the countries, apparently the theme of the Opening Ceremony is “hostage situation.”

Bleah. Riding a writing wave in the wee hours took me down. Hoping the antibiotic I just took will help.

The newsletter has landed.

Newspapers and Catholicism—two topics very close to my heart—come up, albeit separately. Somehow, there are cameo appearances by David Byrne, Mary Tyler Moore, and the Juggalos tacked on in passing at the end. Something for everybody.

Currently preparing for a client meeting later this afternoon with the soothing sounds of Olympic curling on my PC. Never has the sound of sweeping calmed my soul so much.

I once interviewed with the Post’s online operation. Worst interview of my career; I was catatonic during most of it. Fortunately the Tribune came along and I landed there.

The Post’s demise is a gut punch. Finally pulled the plug on all my Amazon subscriptions. Done with enabling crap like this.

Finally got to a dentist today for The Toothache of All Toothaches. Now amped up on antibiotics, Tylenol/codeine, and generic Ora-jel. Whee.

Anticipating a 2-tooth extraction in the coming weeks.

Happy February, friends! 😬

Just watched: “Arco” (2025). Phenomenal and sad look at humankind’s near future, with a kinder and more peaceful look at Earth beyond that. 🍿

I really didn’t need a toothache this weekend.

The latest newsletter is out.

Sometimes I wonder why I bother to write it; typically I get maybe 30 views per issue. It’s a good thing I’ve shelved any plans to monetize it (except for a periodic Ko-Fi link for tips). But maybe that’s why I like doing it.

Got an unsurprisingly bland homily proclaiming a generic “Christ is the answer” at Mass, but I did appreciate the mention of “from Minnesota … to Venezuela” toward the end.

Still a lot better than the guy at our former parish who quoted Candace Owens from the pulpit. 😐

Finally coughed up a newsletter.

You know it’s a postseason Sunday in Chicagoland when an entire family in matching Walter Payton jerseys comes up for Communion and the priest ends Mass with “Go Bears!”

It was certainly a great year to be laid off. 😐

First newsletter of the year. Read, enjoy, subscribe. (It’s free!)

And if I can build an empire without invading Venezuela, I’ll be a happy gal.

Catara the home office manager says good riddance to 2025 and wishes you a New Year full of hope and Temptations cat treats. But mostly hope.

Oh, look. It’s a Boxing Day newsletter, complete with regrettable AI-generated image! Feel free to read, please.

Dammit, one stop at my local coffee joint for a matcha latte and I’ve already lost #Whamageddon.

This is the kind of wintry snapshot that I would have sent my sister. She lived in Southern California and loved anything snowy or otherwise seasonal. I miss being able to send her these.

I may be more than a little paranoid, but I’m weirded out by older men on social media who seem to follow only women and then decide to follow me and directly ask to be my friend. The vibe is a little creepy, honestly.

Not sure what this means for me, but I’ve gone from writing about gift-giving ideas for Tuesday’s newsletter to New Wave music and aging. But it’s fun to watch hours of Oingo Boingo videos and call it work-related research.

Anyway, we’re halfway through the Thanksgiving holiday weekend and I still have much to do, including decluttering the office and setting up a new printer that I bought months ago. With a new Snowstorm That Ate Chicagoland threatening on Saturday to keep us home through Sunday, I might as well hunker down with long-needed tasks.