Fiorella has been spending about an hour a day lately cleaning out her office, and it's been tough going, especially when she has to toss out--well--her past. Things like the handwritten opening pages of several period romances she never finished. Like the typrewritten first eight chapters on a book about gifted children that she dropped after she got a paying job. Like notes and letters from friends that mean nothing to her now. And there's still more to go.
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Fio is still furious with Trump, even though he's rescinded the order to separate migrant children from their parents. In fact, she's made herself a DUMP TRUMP badge that she's been wearing for two days.
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On the pleasant side, Fiorella drove into Austin to get her hair done and exchange news with friend Deborah, who's been her stylist for at least thirty years. Deborah knows more about Fio by now than Fio knows about herself.
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The toner cartridge arrived yesterday, and Fioralla's baby car is now ready to pick up at Mazda. Maybe the world will settle back into its normal pace today. ROARS OF SARDONIC LAUGHTER
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Did Fio ever tell you that she writes down descriptions of interesting cloud formations for use in her books? Yesterday, she saw "soggy clouds threatening overhead and dropping sudden spates of rain at random intervals."
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