Thanks to Donald Trump's incessant attention whoring, my fight or flight response only shuts off when I'm sleeping now. I probably won't live as long as I would have done had he just stayed with The Apprentice, a show I've never seen, and probably never will.
We don't have cable because I won't tolerate extortion.
Hear that, (rhymes with) Rogers?
You, too, (rhymes with) Bell.
Also, if he's not in prison soon I'll spontaneously combust.
Anyway, I'm worried because of the whole turning sixty thing, and I'm not even close to where I thought I'd be, giving a shit-wise. My friend, who has been sixty for a bit, goes on and on about how, after she turned sixty, she stopped giving a shit.
Did I mention she doesn't have internet?
Well she doesn't. So in order to make her move in Scrabble, she has to go to the library. Although I guess she has a tablet now and could go anywhere there's internet to make her move in Scrabble. She'd want it to be free use, though, because she doesn't want to spend any money to use the internet. Otherwise, she'd just spring to have it at her apartment.
Or would she?
I thought I'd been bugging her to get it because she'd enjoy having it. But maybe I just want her to get it so she'll end up like me, all bent over and despairing, emotions running the gamut from anxious to panic-stricken within five minute spans several times a day.
Except, she'd probably ignore politics, and browse Pinterest or some such pleasant place (I've only heard tell about because I just do politics on the internet) for an hour or so - and then close her tablet and retire to her bedroom for a restorative nap.
So it's me, then. I have an internet usage problem of both quantity and quality. I-
Oh. My. God.
I have something in common with Donald Trump!
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